Jack Sparrow and the QuatriPirate Tournament
by Geheimnis
Summary: The arrival of the legendary QuatriPirate Tournament means Jack needs teammates, and we all know a certain blacksmith who is more than willing to play pirate. A comedic romp, featuring appearances by Captain Hook and the Dread Pirate Roberts.
1. One Fine QuatriMorning

Author's Note - _I'm back! Summertime is here and that means essays and assignments aren't! My buddy who received 'The Sting of the Yellow Dart' as a birthday present really enjoyed it, and because it was fun to write a pirate fanfic, I'm back at it. __Reading 'The Sting of the Yellow Dart' isn't necessary to read this one, though I am proud of it. _

_But here's the first (and very short) chapter! Enjoy and remember that we all appreciate reviews!_

Chapter One

It was early morning, and William Turner was brushing his hair. He was taking the time to do it because it takes an awful lot of work to keep up a thick and luxurious mane like that, especially when one lives next to the sea with its wind and salt and sun.   
  
The breeze that blew in from the open window was tentative and cool and Will was glad of this - not because it hinted at a day of mild weather as opposed to scorching heat, but because a gentle air did little to disturb his careful handiwork. He carefully bound his hair into his trademark ponytail and leaned out onto the window's ledge. The morning was dawning clear and cloudless over the water. The docks within view of the blacksmith's shop were not yet crowded, but as the hours wore on they would certainly fill. For the time being, Port Royale was quiet and calm. Peaceful and relaxed.  
  
Irrepressibly drab and awful.  
  
Will turned back into his smithy with a stretch. There was work to be done today, and plenty of it. In another life perhaps, this would have bothered him and he would have scurried to have it finished. But over the months and years he slowly discovered, and without surprise, that he no longer needed to be defined by his trade. He no longer needed to fall behind the rhythmic pound of his hammer. He no longer needed to work until his muscles shrieked in order to feel as though his life was meaningful. There were more sides to life - sides that were glittering and bejeweled, or sides that blew and snapped in the wind, or sides that were washed with the groan of timber and the smell of salt.  
  
For the second time in his life, Will Turner wanted nothing more than to play pirate.

* * *

Captain Melanie Cash did not appreciate the fact that the morning was dawning as early and as bright as it was. As is the nature of the sun's first beams, Melanie Cash woke to find herself blinded by light that had found its way through an impossibly small slit in the rough curtains of the inn room to poke her through her eyelids. She caught herself before she groaned, and fell into her old habit of straining to remember where she was before she opened her eyes.  
  
It was a useful habit, considering the circumstances. She remembered visiting an old friend at the downstairs bar the night before, and being introduced to friends upon friends of that friend. She remembered alcohol - ah, was there ever a more two-faced comrade than that golden and liquid jackal? - and remembered fumbling with the keys to the room where she currently was. With an effort, she could recall snapping the room's curtains closed with a giggle, but not before the rays of the moon had lighted on polished ebony skin pulled taut over broad shoulders and a smooth chest.  
  
Ah. That would certainly explain the arm that was draped over her.  
  
Careful not to change the sound of her breathing from the gentle rise and fall of sound sleep, Melanie opened her eyes and slowly turned her head. Sprawled across the tangled sheets was ... was ...   
  
Blimey. What was _this_ one's name?

* * *

The man who stood watching her was eating his breakfast noisily, but Dana Flint did not pay him any mind. She knew the rules well enough. Seven paces. Stop and turn. Then fire.  
  
_One_. Her stride was unhurried and her boots resounded sharply on the stone of the alleyway.  
  
_Two_. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were feeling well stretched and ready. They would not disappoint her.  
  
_Three_. She rolled her neck slightly to work out any remaining morning-cricks.   
  
_Four_. Though her hair was tucked under her leather cap, she quietly blew stray strands from her vision with a puff of air.  
  
_Five_. She blinked her eyes one - twice - hard. It would not do to have the weight of the early hour tugging her eyelids down.  
  
_Six_. She balled her hands into fists and squeezed before allowing her fingers to relax. Both trigger fingers were keen to be used.  
  
_Seven and halt_. She took a breath, then whirled around with her pistols in hand.  
  
There was a loud crack as both guns were fired, and out of two glass bottles perched on a low wall a short distance away, one exploded into brown shards. The other, brushed by the blast of the passing bullet, merely wobbled.  
  
"Oi! You miss - " The man surely would have finished his apt observation had the gun maker not emptied her remaining shots into his large belly. His expression of surprise accompanied him on the way down as he crumpled, his messy breakfast forgotten.   
  
Dana snickered, and the bottle fell over.

* * *

Jack Sparrow was starting to wake up. And though he would surely yell angrily and unintelligibly at this author for failing to put the term 'captain' before his name, he was in no real shape to yell anything at anyone at the present time. Recalling his name in the first place may have proven to be a tad difficult, considering the hour.  
  
He groaned loudly, and freed an arm so that he could wipe his hand across his mouth. His head was pounding, and so he clawed blindly around for a moment in order to find his hat and place it over his face.   
  
Bloody sunshine.  
  
Jack licked his lips, and winced at the taste that it returned. Oh, alcohol. Was there ever a more two-faced comrade than that golden and liquid jackal? He paused. "Bloody morning," he muttered. "I can't even think up an original metaphor at this hour."  
  
He tried to recall what he had been celebrating with such fervor the night before, but all that his sluggish memory could return to him were slightly smudged images of mugs clapping together and of colored skirts spiraling on a raised stage. Had it been a shipmate's birthday? Had someone returned to port?  
  
Ah. Now he remembered.  
  
It had been a Wednesday.  
  
Slowly and painfully, Jack sat up and pushed his hat back to rest properly on his head. As was revealed to him when several patrons stepped over him to pass inside, he was sitting outside the Cliffs of Insanity hostel in Tortuga. He gave a small, gold-tipped smile. Well, that certainly made easing his headache easier.  
  
He lurched into the hostel and hailed the wench at the bar. 

Another author's note - _Do excuse me while I kick whoever invented indenting on my computer. _


	2. Clever Advertising

Author's Note - _Here's number two!_  
  
Chapter Two  
  
"Just leave me the bottle, darling."  
  
"You didn't ask for a bottle, Jack. You asked for porridge."  
  
"Well there's a way to remedy that, isn't there?" he replied smoothly. "Bring me a bottle, and _then_ leave it." The serving girl made a face that was a mixture of both exasperation and good-humor towards her regular morning patron and ducked behind the bar counter.   
  
Jack stirred the contents of the bowl in front of him without looking at it. His eyes, more open and less red now that he was somewhere other than on the grass to the side of the hostel, moved lazily over the dim room. He took in the handful of people scattered at the tables and along the bar and did not immediately recognize anyone. This didn't surprise him. Tortuga was not so much a place for people to linger as it was a place for people to, well, order porridge and a drink before moving on.  
  
He thought about this as he uncorked the bottle given him and took a small sip. He estimated that he had been in Tortuga only a few days. There was, he thought with a smile, no real way of telling the exact amount. Time was like that in this particular little port-town - the only way to guess how long you'd been in Tortuga was to compare the weight of your coin pouch before and after your stay. He supposed that he could look up Gibbs, the only man he'd known to have made himself a more-or-less permanent residence in the area, then decided against it. Old Gibbs was a fine comrade, but Jack was not yet sure what it was that he wanted to do.  
  
While he absent-mindedly spooned cooling porridge into his mouth, Jack mulled over the possibilities. His ship was moored, as securely as it could be, at the docks. His crew was most likely somewhere nearby and no doubt spending their most recent earnings with zeal. He didn't blame them. He had done the same. But where should he venture next? What was worth his time and efforts?  
  
The answer strolled into the hostel with a whistle and took a seat beside him.   
  
He was a clean-shaven and finely clothed young man. That alone was worth the synchronized turning of heads of everyone in the inn, but it was the jangle of his bulging pockets as he sat that started them fidgeting in their seats. He politely asked the unbelieving serving girl for a strong tea. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, every low conversation in the Cliffs of Insanity hostel halted immediately. If it had been evening, the banter in the bar would have been replaced by cricket-song - but as it was merely early afternoon, the sound of Tortuga's few, brave resident birds drifted through the open doors instead.  
  
Jack glanced down at the stranger's full pocket, and then leaned over. "Listen, friend," he said out of the corner of his mouth, conscious of the eyes on his back, "there's something to be said for subtlety, 'specially in a place cheery as this one. Know what I mean?"  
  
The young man smiled politely at Jack and made a great show of blowing on the contents of his steaming mug. Jack was startled to see that several of the man's teeth were missing, and that more than a few of the remaining teeth were capped with silver. His eyes flicked from teeth to eyes, and the younger man winked as he drained his drink. He stood up slowly.  
  
"The only way to give people something," he replied softly, in a voice that was much more raspy and rough than the pirate would have expected for one so young and well kempt, "is t'make sure that they want it in the first place." He reached into his pocket and flipped Jack a coin, which was caught handily. The man nodded, then looked towards the door and appeared to ready himself. Then, with a jolly wave to the bar mistress and a courteous thank you for his drink, he strolled out of the hostel and into the sunshine, seemingly oblivious to the scraping of wood as a multitude of chairs were pushed back.  
  
The entire bar followed.  
  
Jack, still holding the coin, listened without surprise to the sounds outside. He heard what sounded to be a startled yelp, followed by a scuffling of feet and a cacophony of gruff laughs. There came the sound of coins spilling from torn pockets, but Jack did not hear any patter upon the ground as though they had hit it. He guessed that they hadn't.  
  
"And just what was that young man thinking?" the bar mistress asked the near-empty room.  
  
Jack Sparrow opened his palm to examine the heavy coin he had been given as the sounds of the tussle outside moved further and further away. He did not reply to her, because what he saw on the coin was very strange. Instead of the accustomed characters and images on a shilling, was the following:  
  
"_The first has strength and truth in shot;  
The next will pinch all that we've got.  
A third knows well the blade's bright shine;  
The last partakes 'til blood is brine_."  
  
Realization dawning, Jack turned the coin over:  
  
"_All champions wrought with pirate lore  
Are scoundrel's heart, when cut in four.  
The prize, you'll swear, was heaven-sent -   
Prepare ye ... 'tis a QuatriPirate Tournament_."  
  
Jack's mouth had dropped open. "The tournament ... " he murmured. Slowly, a grin replaced his look of astonishment, and it was a very sly and knowing grin. "I think," he said, to no one in particular apart from the reading audience, "that I have just discovered what to do with myself." With that, he tossed a handful of coins onto the counter-top and strolled out the door, considerable more excited - and sober - than he had been when he entered.  
  
The barmaid started to shake her head as she reached to clean the bowl. There was no spoon to worry about - Jack always took the spoon with him. But it was her turn to be surprised when she saw the pile of coins that Jack had left behind. She was astounded, not at the generous tip, but because Jack Sparrow had never before paid.

* * *

My thanks to people who take the time to review:  
  
**Tee hee:** Hmm .. such a mysterious name, but I think I have an inkling as to who you are. Sign in next time, little sister! Thanks for reviewing, and you know I try and update as soon as possible. I certainly know how impatient I get for chapters to be up on my favorite stories.  
  
**raistlin**: I'm sad to admit that I've only read one Dragonlance book, but it was totally great. I'm glad you've taken a liking to the characters - there is a fine line between an original character and a Mary Sue. 


	3. Two Down

Chapter Three  
  
Captain Melanie Cash of the good ship Yellow Dart had received a rather urgent message. She had been woken from her sleep - which had been solitary - and given a scrawled message on a scrap of parchment. Professional though she was, she had unfortunately set the parchment alight with a candle in her impatience to read it and return to sleep. The only portion that she had been able to make out before it turned to crisp in her hand was a place to meet and a time.  
  
An ungodly time, she thought with a yawn, and shifted from one foot to another on the abandoned road. Though the signature had been lost too soon to decipher, the remainder of the note had briefly made mention of a new opportunity for her to earn some coins by doing what she did best, and though she might have complained about her lack of sleep, she was secretly glad of the chance. Business had been slow of late and perhaps this was a sign of things to come. Her business was, of course, that of being something of a messenger-courier-errand runner. It was this business, naturally, that Melanie Cash was passionate enough about to rise in the wee hours. (_But you were all thinking something else weren't you? You were immediately pointing fingers and catcalling and naming her a 'lady of the night', eh? Just goes to show you the power of the first impression and of the first chapter, doesn't it? But for shame! You're all still horrid for thinking it_).  
  
She swiped a hand over her face and willed her eyes to stay open: having been so recently roused, they did not agree with her decision to regularly peer up and down the road in the near darkness. Far off, Melanie could hear the howl of pirate laughter and muted pistol blast. The fact that the night was assuredly crowded with brigands did not bother her - a fair few of them had had the misfortune of encountering her in the night, she knew, and it had been the irate ends of her own guns.  
  
And if this mysterious new business partner did not reveal themselves soon, it was entirely possible that she would suddenly experience a repeat attack of similar irate-ness.   
  
But just as her thoughts were beginning to turn from longing for her bed to itching for her cutlass, there was movement on the road ahead. As Melanie strained to see in the dim, a figure slowly approached her. Though it was not easy to see in the dark, she saw that the individual's hat was perched at a jaunty angle and that their coat hung low. There was also, unmistakably, the gentle and occasional sound of jangling beads. Her eyes widened.  
  
"No," she said, even before Jack Sparrow had come to stand before her. He was smiling widely.   
  
"Excellent! You came - "  
  
"No, I didn't. This is a mistake. I should be at home and in bed."  
  
Jack's smile became larger and he straightened his jacket collar. "We can do that later, too, if there's time." Melanie glared at him, and Jack laughed quickly and held up his hands. "Only jokes, darling." The Captain of the Yellow Dart made an angry sound and crossed her arms, but Jack noticed with pleasure that she made no move to leave.  
  
He pulled a coin from his pocket, and held it out to her. Melanie raised her eyebrows. "Whoever it is you want me to find for you, they've got to be worth a little more than that, Jack."   
  
He smiled again. "This coin isn't what I'm paying you, fair captain. It's part of what I want you to do." She took it, reluctantly, and he saw that she started slightly at its weight.  
  
"What is this?"  
  
"It's an announcement. To scallywags." Melanie turned the coin over in the weak light, but did not yet appear properly impressed.  
  
"An announcement for what?"  
  
"For the QuatriPirate Tournament!" Jack exclaimed and snatched it back. He read her the poem off of both sides, and in the dark, he could finally see the same recognition emerging on her face that had on his own. "Now do you understand?"  
  
Melanie seemed to be at a loss for words. "I thought that the tournament was only held every few decades!"  
  
"It is. Apparently it's time for it to be held again."  
  
She sounded awed. "The prizes for those who win are said to be legendary ... and the fame, Jack! Think of the fame someone would have after winning something like the QuatriPirate Tournament. It would change their lives!"  
  
"I'm going to enter."  
  
"What?!" Melanie stared at her old comrade. "As wonderful as it would be to win," she said, "it's supposed to be almost impossible. The QuatriPirate Tournament gathers together the best of the best!"  
  
Jack seemed smug. "Exactly, love. Win there and no one would ever doubt your skill. Win there, and the little excursions on my Pearl and your Dart could be solely for pocket change."  
  
"But - but you'd need a team!"  
  
"Which is why I have come to you. I've got one."  
  
Melanie was incredulous. "Who? Who would be good enough to enter something like this? They'd have to be - "  
  
"Ridiculously good in their event. Ludicrously good. A veritable deity in their chosen element."  
  
"Exactly!"  
  
Jack leaned in close, and as he whispered names into her ear, Melanie's mouth hung open. She considered for a moment. "It ... it might work. You might have a chance."  
  
"We will have a chance," he corrected her, and held out his hand. "What do you say? Partners?"  
  
Melanie hesitated only briefly, then grasped Jack's ringed fingers with her own. "Teammates," she said instead, and Jack smiled. "I don't know how I let you talk me into these things, Sparrow."  
  
"All that's left to do is hope that Dana Flint 'n Will Turner are as easy to convince," he replied, and Melanie shook her head.  
  
"From what I remember, there shouldn't be a problem. Those gits are as mad as you are."

* * *

Special thanks to:  
  
**LinLin**: Holy cow - if every review could be as colorful and wonderful as yours! Thanks for taking such an interest, and I very much appreciate the reviews on my other little tales. More is coming!  
  
**"I'd say...":** Haha! I know who you are anyway! I'd better get my birthday present soon, Carine! Thanks, as always, for the great encouragement.  
  
**Sweetlilbee**: I was wondering how long it would be until you reviewed ;). Yeah, I thought that poor young man's job would be a pretty hilarious thing, but pirates are pretty crazy. Who knows, he may turn up again! 


	4. Over Breakfast

Author's Note - _Drink tea. Drink it all the time. Drink tea from Kenya and from other parts of the world. Even if you do this and nothing else, you'll have something to be immensely proud of_.  
  
Chapter Four  
  
It was a known fact throughout Port Royale that the _Poco_ pub was a relatively respectable place of food and drink. The fare was fair, the staff was skilled, and while it was true that the _Poco_ was neither large nor enormously extravagant, her patrons were loyal and numbered impressively. Among them was Will Turner, who was currently to be found at his accustomed table and listlessly pushing his spoon about a bowl of porridge.  
  
"Now, Will," Carine Cash, _Poco_ owner and proprietor, called to him over the counter, "we've mo' for you t' eat than that! D' you want people thinkin' that our dear author ain't got enough sense in 'er 'ead to write 'bout people eatin' naught but porridge? That'll be th' second chapter in a row, that will!" And indeed, the few others who made an appearance at the Poco in the mornings gestured to the wonderful-smelling and historically accurate array of dishes that they were tucking into with relish.  
  
Will managed a small smile and shook his head. "No, really, it's just fine. I'm just fine." Carine eyed him as she finished drying her dishes, and pulled a chair up to his table when she was done. She tossed her dark hair.  
  
"Wot's th' bother, lad?"  
  
The blacksmith bit back a chuckle at hearing Carine refer to him as a 'lad'. He been familiar with both Cash sisters growing up in the port and Melanie, the older, was much closer to his age than the flamboyant Carine. He decided against reminding her - at present, she was behaving very well. Ordinarily, she took it upon herself to announce (every hour and seemingly on the hour) Elizabeth's continued absence and try her best to flirt with him as he ate. Equally ordinarily, this did not bother him. But today -   
  
"Carine, have you ever felt as though your life was missing something?" The young barmaid had rested her chin on her hands and was gazing raptly at him. She liked to watch his little moustache move as he spoke and she shook her head slightly so that he would continue. Will's eyes were far away. "Lately, I've felt that way. I've felt as though my life is missing something. It might be something small ... some little change. Maybe there's something that I want to do without knowing it. Maybe there's a place I should see, but I don't know where to find it. Does any of this make sense to you?"  
  
"Most of it," Carine murmured. "Go on."  
  
"I don't know. I suppose I want change. I suppose I want to have an adventure. I wish I knew where to find - "  
  
"Oh!" exclaimed the kitchen help sourly, and both barmaid and blacksmith turned to see the elderly cook shaking her head as she cleared a table. She saw then looking, and held out her palm. "See this? See these?" Obligingly, Carine stood to examine the multitude of coins that the woman proffered.  
  
"Someone's tried t' pay wif these again?" asked Carine. The older woman snorted her agreement.  
  
"It doesn't even look like a proper coin, does it, sir and miss?" She tossed one for Will to see and emptied her palm into Carine's hands. She then went muttering back to the kitchen, and Will thought he caught something about _'no good thievin' authors'_ and _'the sacrifice of profit for plot points.'  
_  
Carine, however, seemed less than surprised. In fact, she looked grimly satisfied. "D' you know what these are?" she asked Will, who had been politely waiting for a break in dialogue and description to examine the coin given him. He traced over the tiny etched words with a fingernail before he shook his head.  
  
"These coins 'r advertisements for the QuatriPirate Tourney," she said, clinking them together in her hands. "Every few decades like, a tournament is 'eld wot brings together pirates from all over th' world t' compete for fame n' glorious prizes!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Surely enough. Wot's more, pirates compete n' teams o' four wif different categories." Her brow furrowed briefly. "Though t' think on it, I ne'er understood 'ow that'd work wif sharin' prizes n' all." There was little that could be called listlessness to Will now. His eyes were bright.  
  
"What sort of categories?"  
  
Carine laughed at him. "Come now, darlin'! Ain't you s'pposed t' be a sharp one? Says right on th' coin." Will's eyes dropped to his hand again, and he reread both sides of the little rhyme.  
  
"Scoundrel's heart?" He asked. Carine rolled her eyes.  
  
"I think you'd find use in a thesaurus, oh William," she replied. "Each category represents a bit o' wot's meant in bein' a pirate. S' meant t' be symbolic, I imagine. Think on each, loverly one. Strength n' shot?"  
  
"A person who's good with a gun?"  
  
"No doubt, smithy," Carine replied. "Though n' such an event as this, they'd do well t' be extraordinary good wif a gun. Pincher?"  
  
"Thief?" he offered.  
  
"Right, right," she agreed.  
  
"A swordsman would be the third," Will said with some pride. "But the last - blood and brine? Partaking?" Carine gestured over her shoulder towards the bar and to the mugs and bottles that lined the wall. "Someone who drinks?" Carine nodded.  
  
"Shooter, thief, swordmaster n' drunk. All the finest things t' be found n' a scallywag, they are."  
  
Will, thinking of Jack Sparrow, could not help but agree with that. He paused then, because the thought of Jack Sparrow coming alongside the thought of such an event was enough to give anyone pause. Carine waited patiently for the blacksmith to put two and two together. It must, she decided, take an astonishing amount of energy to grow such wonderful hair. It made sense that something might need to be sacrificed.   
  
There was - eventually - a glorious dawning on Will Turner's face. "I should enter! With _Jack_!"  
  
"Well there's an idea," said Carine. "But how's a blacksmith t' do that when you're 'ere and Jack's all th' way - "  
  
"- over here?" finished a familiar voice from the Poco's doorway. Carine and Will turned, delighted, and due to a wonderful coincidence that was not at all lacking in author creativity or fictional plausibility, Captain Jack Sparrow was leaning against the wall. He looked pleased with himself, and tipped his hat to Carine.  
  
"I thought it only polite to let you mull it over for yourself, William," Jack said to Will's grin. He winked. "Best t' let you think it was your idea." All three laughed at that, then began to discuss the important matter of team-forming and far more importantly, the business of interesting chapter-making.  
  
Somewhere outside the _Poco_, a seagull cried.

* * *

Merci beaucoup à:  
  
**LinLin** and **Sweetlilbee**: sniffles what can I say? It's wonderful to have regular reviewers. I daresay my story has some fans. Thanks a million guys. 


	5. Flattery and Flint

Chapter Five  
  
Author's Note - Remember that everyone around you is just a naked person with clothes on.  
  
The thing to understand about Dana Flint was that you didn't, necessarily, and that was due in large part to her hat. Jack, for instance, was an endearing irrational, and that was something that you could tell by observing the way the actions of his eyes and mouth existed completely independently of his body and hands; he was a nutter. Will, as well, was as open as a book. Though he tried to make himself appear enigmatic, his eyes were too warm for mystery and his face was too boyishly charming to be intense.  
  
Dana, however, made it a point to keep herself nondescript in a high-collared long jacket and a leather cap that routinely edged down over eyes that were blue when they were seldom seen. It was her jacket that she kept open, as the twin holsters at her hips were not only a point of pride but an advertisement of her trade.  
  
She made her living with her pistols, and so her principles varied with price. She could find people, extract information from people, or - though the term held disdain - perform assassinations. Even if her face was not recognized, her name and talent with firearms were renown, and it was because of such ability that Jack and his merry band found themselves seated around her table at the _Not-Exactly-a-Pub_ on Carnival Island.  
  
Carnival Island was not large, and it seemed all the smaller because of all the things that were crammed on top of it. From a distance, the island was composed of colorful layers of tents and greenery. Its small harbor was not so much a harbor as an opportunity for ships to conglomerate and demonstrate the marine equivalent of double-parking en masse. It was a joyous, happy little island. Indeed, its tagline was "_Carnival Island - Bigger, Better and More Colorful than Tortuga! Now with more animals_!"   
  
On the island were a number of establishments that could not exactly be called pubs, because Carnival Island tried very hard to be a family friendly place. But the _Not-Exactly-a-Pub_ that Dana Flint frequented still acted like one - even though it would straighten up and smooth down its hair if tourists wandered by - and came complete with smoke in the air and beer on the floor and people under chairs and all the rest of it.   
  
"So," said Dana, whose booted feet were up on the tabletop. "You've come all the way here to see me."  
  
"That's right," said Jack. "I've got an offer for you. I think you'll like the sounds of it, love." Dana, who was casually spinning her pistol around and over her fingers, did her best to look politely interested, but Melanie Cash could not help but interject.  
  
"Don't you ever accidentally fire that thing?" She pointed to the gun.  
  
Dana made a face. "Don't be daft." And so the little group at the table politely ignored the small multitude of smoking holes in the ceiling.  
  
Jack went on. "A certain ... opportunity has arisen. An opportunity for a great amount of fortune and - " he held up one ringed finger, " - for fame. Immeasurable fame." Dana's face was kept carefully neutral.  
  
"And what has this got to do with me, good Captain Sparrow?"  
  
Jack smiled in what he hoped was an enticing manner. "We'd like your help, darling. We need your help because you're the best at what you do." Melanie snorted quietly.  
  
Dana halted her pistol spinning and studied Jack's face. If his comment about her ability had flattered her, she did not show it. "I won't lie to you," she said. "This fame that you speak of interests me greatly. You can keep your coffers to yourself if there is glory to be won." Jack's smile grew.  
  
"So you're in? You're with us?"  
  
It was Dana's turn to smile now. "That all depends, good Captain Sparrow. What endeavor do you speak of? Could it be a grand competition?"  
  
"The grandest," Jack answered, eyes sparkling.  
  
"Could it be a competition of teams in categories that are cleverly inscribed on the coins that have been making their way around this island? Could it involve pirates?"  
  
"Aye and aye, lass!"  
  
Dana leaned forward. "In that case ... no."  
  
The mouths of Melanie and Will, politely silent until this point, fell open. "What do you mean, no?" Melanie demanded. "We've come so far and so long - "  
  
"Actually," Dana corrected, "it seems to me that you've gotten away with winding up on three different islands in near as many chapters without any tedious description of voyage, so you really haven't traveled long at all. However, I'm sure that you won't get off that easily again." Four heads swiveled to face the author that was busy scribbling in a darkened corner. Sharing her table were both a half empty bottle of tequila and the smoldering FBI agent Sands in his black cowboy hat.  
  
Because authors are allowed to throw in things like that.  
  
Startled by the sudden silence, the author looked up with a blink and a blush. "Oh," she said in a slightly apologetic twenty-year old Canadian voice. "I'm afraid not, no." Dana Flint smiled grimly.  
  
"In any case, my answer is the same." She looked pointedly at Jack. "I need no team."  
  
Jack clenched a fist instead of allowing his frustration to reach his face. His smile flickered. "Could ... could you explain why?"  
  
The gun wielder leaned back in her chair and pulled an advertisement coin from her jacket pocket. "Someone talented with guns," she read. "Check. A thief - check. Mother always said I couldn't keep my hands to myself. Someone good with a sword - "  
  
"They'd do well to be extraordinary good," muttered Will.  
  
" - isn't a problem." Dana favored the blacksmith with a genuine smile. "Master William and I have shared our moments, and I think the grooves in his blade are a testament to that. And a drunkard," she read finally, as the bar wench swept up her empty ale bottle and replaced it with another. "I don't think that aspect will give me any trouble, O Prince of Sparrows. So you see, I require no team. I will enter the QuatriPirate Tournament alone."  
  
Jack rubbed a hand over his face. "Firstly, my pet, they wouldn't allow you to do so. Secondly, though I am beginning to see the pleasure that one could find in seeing you fail, I'm not going to let you do that. If you want to win this thing, you'll be with me." He held up his hand before she could protest. "And if I want to win this thing, I'll be with you." But Dana had folded her arms across her chest angrily.  
  
"You'd have to prove it," said Will quietly. "Then we would believe you."  
  
"Wot's that?" said Jack. Will spoke softly, almost regretfully, again. The truth was, he did not want to offend wither of his friends. He and Dana Flint had spent a happy few months together - _before she tried to barter away Jack_, the voice in the back of his mind interjected loudly- and had become very close. He understood well that to one without a home or family, pride could become all-consuming. Will did not want to see Dana make a fool of herself, but he greatly wished that she would forget to uphold her image and join their team. They would win, and he was certain of that.  
  
"I don't disagree," Dana answered. "So _let_ me prove it. Let me best one of you in the category that you will participate in, and perhaps then you will leave me in peace!"  
  
Jack spread wide his hands. "Who is it to be, mistress of gunpowder? Who shall be the one to fall amidst the array of the bullets of your exceptional ability? Whose pride can stand such a punishing?"  
  
"I guess it'll be yours then, you cracker," Dana laughed, missing Jack's sly smile. "What's the category to be?"  
  
Jack removed his hat solemnly and placed it before him on the table. Brown doe eyes lifted to meet frosty though cheery ones, and instead of answering, he thoughtfully replied: "I think we're going to need some cups, love."  
  
**At this point, I - the authoress - would like to briefly interject. In no way do I want the next section to come across as an advertisement for alcohol usage. In no way. I understand that, to many, the pirate life holds a great deal of appeal. Whether this is because of the bandanas that they get to wear or the parrots that they get to share their beds with, I have no idea. But I'm sure it's not because of gratuitous amounts of alcohol. I mean, who in their right mind would even promote such a thing?   
  
For heaven's sake, Sands! Leave me some of the bottle.**


	6. The Eunuch and the Green Fairy

Author's Note – _Sorry about that long hiatus! Returning to school has now instilled in me a regularity that I will try to apply to all aspects of life. Well ... almost all. I am still a shameless impulse shopper. Would you like to see my twelve Pez dispensers?_

Chapter Six

The competitors eyed one another over the ancient wooden tabletop, each with mouth dry and grimly set, each with eyes hooded and thoughts guarded. This was to be a contest of will and of the utmost endurance. Neither gold nor prize was to be ventured or gained now. Now was only for the glory. Now was only for the prize.

"I think you've both gone 'round the twist," Will muttered, and both Dana Flint and Jack Sparrow turned their attention to him. Jack was all smiles.

"Come now! What's not to be admired in a contest such as this? I am about to drink yon fine young woman under yon table – a sport fit for kings, lad!" Dana couldn't help but chuckle.

Will gestured to their as-yet empty cups. "Well, it isn't going to be fair, for one. I mean, Dana's practically made this pub her home and she's been longer here today than we have. She's already had an ale or two –" Dana cleared her throat and held up six fingers – "or six more than you, Jack. You'll have a running start on her."

Dana placed a reassuring hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. "Never fear, William dear. You know Jack better than I, and even I know –" her voice dropped low, "that this sailor can ne'er be called dry nor sober at any time of the day." She winked. "I see no reason why we will not start out being evenly matched." Melanie and Will couldn't argue with that.

"Even so," Will continued, indignant, "what is it that you're going to be drinking to have this contest? Ale? Rum?" He glanced down at his menu of _Time-Period-Accurate_ refreshments. "Mead? We're going to be here for a fortnight waiting for one of your stomachs to be drowned. This still isn't going to work properly!"

"Perhaps I can be of some assistance," a dulcet voice interjected. Jack flashed his golden smile, Dana's eyes took on a twinkle, Melanie could not help but grin, and Will jumped, guiltily. They swivelled in their chairs to face the singer and star attraction of the _Not-Exactly-A-Pub_ – Loretta.

Costume change was a favourite past time of Loretta's, and the costume at present was no exception to the singer's preference for bright extravagance. It was a silk dress of deepest cerulean – by no mistake, as it was a grand compliment to Loretta's eyes – that lacked sleeves and had twin side slits up the leg to the thigh. Silver bangles tinkled mutely on the singer's wrists, and a sapphire ring (an offering from a fan, Jack assumed correctly) adorned one of the fingers that was placed lightly on the back of Will's chair, close to his shoulder. The golden curls that ordinarily were given free reign over Loretta's creamy shoulders were presently swept back into a striking ponytail. Sapphire earrings winked from Loretta's ears. Full, pink-colored lips curved into a winning smile. "I overheard your conversation, and I thought it would give me an excuse to chat with some old friends." Will found Loretta's fingers briefly wound into his ponytail, and fought off a shiver. "May I join you?"

Jack stood and embraced the epitome of beauty in blue. "'Course you can! How 'ave you been?" Loretta took a seat next to him.

"I've been very well," Loretta replied in a masculine voice. "Tourism here has been very successful. Isn't that right, Dana?"

"Oh sure, sure," Dana agreed. "Eric and I have seen 'em come and go in troves. This place has been hopping for weeks. It's good for business." Dana patted the butt of her pistol.

"All sorts of business, yes. But it's Loretta today, sweeting." The singer yawned and stretched. "I'm to be onstage in an hour or two."

"My mistake." The gunmaker grinned knowingly. "Then do give Eric my regards."

Cheeks flushed, Will recalled his first encounter with the merry performer. Loretta had something of an interesting past, because in his youth he had originally been a circus performer. As he had grown older, he had discovered that he had talents in performing in other venues than colored tents, and had successfully taken to the stage. Will had not known this at their first meeting and had been smitten with Loretta after seeing him perform, but that had lasted only until Loretta had shaken his hand and introduced himself as Eric. Naturally, neither Dana nor Jack had found it particularly necessary to inform Will of Eric's nature prior. It had, they insisted, been more entertaining that way. Loretta had agreed.

"But I overheard something about a drinking contest," Loretta remarked. "Who's going to play?"

"Dana and Jack," Will replied with an effort. "And so we're never going to be able to leave."

Loretta laughed gaily. "Oh, that could certainly be a problem." He waggled a slender finger at Jack. "If I know this one, he's long since grown gills for the sea that's found in a bottle. And young Flint has been ... practicing her form here with me." Dana smiled broadly.

"And an excellent student I've been, if I say so myself."

"Do you have any suggestions, Er – ah, Loretta?" asked Melanie. The singer smiled, and swept out of his chair without answering immediately. Jack met Dana's eyes and raised his eyebrows.

"Methinks the lady has a measure for our contest."

Dana smirked. "I'm eager to finish this and enter the tournament, _sans_ pirate baggage."

"About that –" Jack began, but was silenced by Loretta's perfumed return. He carried a tall, opaque bottle on a tray, and a pair of glasses fair smaller than the ones already on the table. Gunmaker and pirate captain saw this and pouted simultaneously.

"Aw, Loretta ... "

"Now, now," he chided. "I'll not bear moaning yet. There will be time enough for that, believe me my sweetings." He placed the bottle carefully, almost reverently, on the table. He set a tiny glass before each of the two. "This drink's slightly unusual, and it's not to any rummy that I'd offer it." He smiled warmly at Jack and Dana in turn. "You two, however, are close friends, and so I have no problem with sparing a bit to see you put yourselves under the table."

"There isn't a label," said Dana, rotating the dark bottle.

"There isn't a need," Loretta replied and seated himself.

Melanie and Will scooted their chairs forward. "What is it?"

Loretta began their brief education "– into the wonders of Absinthe. This is a very potent herbal liqueur with an extremely high alcohol content." He smiled. "But that's not the fun part."

Jack removed the cork from the bottle and sniffed. He wrinkled his nose. "What's the fun part?"

"Proper absinthe – the world is plagued, regrettably, by poor imitations – includes the very essential ingredient of wormwood."

Dana laughed. "Isn't that a drug?" Loretta smiled impishly.

"Quite right, pet. It's a hallucinogen. That's why this dear drink has earned itself the name _The Green Fairy_." He poured a small amount of dizzyingly green liquid into each of their glasses. "Using it too often has caused madness in a great many artists and writers – but before it has, it's made their work much more interesting."

Jack lifted his little glass, and swirled its contents gently. "What do you say love? Shall we join the ranks of the mad in our match?"

"I think you already have me beaten there," Dana replied with a half-smile, and tossed back the first shot.

* * *

Dana Flint learned very quickly that there was a secret to success in a drinking contest with Jack Sparrow. It was a very simple one, and it was not long before she had mastered it. That secret was this:

_**Challenge someone else, you colossal idiot.**_

Though both she and Jack were soon reeling from the effects of the absinthe, Dana was promptly proven to be on the losing side. "My mouth is numb," she said happily as Loretta refilled her glass for the fourteenth time. She curled her fingers around the little cup. "Is your mouth numb as well, Jack-o?"

"My mouth?" He hiccupped, and wiped his lips after draining his glass. "Oh love, my mouth is as nimble as it has ever been." He smacked his lips and peered around the room, looking dazed. "I daresay it is moreso."

This, at least, is how intelligent their conversation seemed to be to the two of them. To Loretta, Melanie and Will, however, Dana slurred something in a disturbingly high-pitched voice while fumbling for her little cup, and Jack replied with a low mutter that ended in a gurgle. Both were slumped back in their chairs.

"Are you sure it was wise to use this drink for a drinking contest?" Melanie asked as Jack started to examine the rings on his fingers, absolutely awe-struck. Dana sat still in her chair, and it seemed to Melanie that she was making a great effort to blink her eyes together at the same time. It didn't look to be working.

"Oh sure," Loretta flapped his hand at Melanie. "They'll be fine. Just ... ah, just make sure they both have plenty of rest tonight, and in a dark room. Make sure it's very quiet. I would probably make sure it's locked." Dana was starting to giggle, and tears of mirth were already spilling down her cheeks.

"S'net air!" she crowed, and pointed a finger at Will. Well, in Will's general direction. She missed a little.

"What did she say?"

"I think she said 'it's not fair'," Loretta said to Will, then louder and slower to Dana, "What's not fair, my love?"

"'Ee," Dana replied, pointing now at Jack. "'Ee's mad! 'Ee's mad ah-ready!" She swallowed another glassful. "'Ee's mad ah-ready ... mad adad." She squeezed her eyes shut, and then opened them suddenly as though someone had startled her badly. She leaned over the table towards Will, and beckoned to him with a finger.

He obliged and leaned close to her. She put her lips against his ear, and Will thought that he could smell black licorice. It was not unpleasant. "Will," she sighed. She bopped her head against his repeatedly. "Will, Will, Will." It took a great effort for him not to laugh.

"Yes, yes, yes, Dana?"

She sighed again, long and mournful and licorice-scented. "Ay, Willy. I lose. I lo-o-o-o ..." She didn't finish, and instead began to snore against his shoulder.

Melanie laughed and leaned back to stretch. "About time!" Jack, looking blearily around, saw Melanie tilting on the two back legs of her chair. Smiling, he attempted the same.

"So she loses," Will chuckled as Jack and his chair fell with a crash to the floor. "That was easier than I thought. Perhaps now we can take her to the ship without any more fuss." Melanie took hold of the snoring young woman's feet and Will held her firmly under the arms. As the two hefted the gunmaker up and made to exit the pub, there came a soft, beautiful singing.

Both Melanie and Will looked curiously over their shoulders at Loretta, but he laughed and held up his hands. "It isn't me, pets." With one lacquered nail, he pointed to the floor. Jack had his eyes closed and was singing in a lilting, melodious, feminine voice. It sounded quite wonderful.

"Jack can sing?" Melanie asked, incredulous.

Loretta laughed. It sounded like the tinkling of small bells. "Oh, my. If you think that _I_ make quite the songbird in silk and stilettos – " he winked, "– you should have seen dear Captain Sparrow. Now there was a boy who could put on a show!"

From the floor, Jack crooned his agreement.


	7. Bats

Author's Note – _I don't own Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, or Raoul Duke. But rest assured that they would be well taken of if I did. What is it that they say about birds of a feather?_

Chapter Seven

Dana opened her eyes. Moonlight slanted in through the round cabin window and fell across the blanket that was pulled up to her chin. Around her, the _Yellow Dart_ sighed woodenly and rocked with the water of the bay. Dana stretched. She would have punctuated the action with a groan if her throat hadn't hurt so badly. She swallowed, mouth dry, and cast about on the small table beside the bed. She nearly overturned the cup of water that Melanie had placed there.

"Eurrgh," she remarked after she had drained it, and considering the circumstances, it was an apt observation.

Dana let the cup fall to the floor and ran her tongue over her lips. It felt overlarge, as though Will had taken to it with his hammer, and her lips were numb and rubbery. She winced at the rumblings in her stomach as she sat up and cast the blanket to one side.

"I owe you one, oh sweet Loretta," Dana croaked, and rubbed a hand over her face. "A hefty one indeed." She rose to unsteady feet and made her way to the door, ever mindful of the dip and sway of the ship beneath her. She put a hand to the knob.

Locked.

She contemplated the significance of this development whilst absentmindedly twisting the knob this way and that. How long had she been asleep? Or, more importantly, what had warranted a locked door once she had been put to bed? She smiled to herself in the near dark.

Absinth, it seemed, was worthwhile stuff.

* * *

"We were somewhere around Barstow – on the edge of the desert – when the drugs began to take hold." 

"Uh, Jack?"

"I remember saying something like, 'I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe you should drive – '"

"Jack!?"

"Suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us, and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car!"

"JACK!"

"And a voice was screaming, 'Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn – '"

There was the sharp sound of a slap and the jangling of beads. Melanie sighed. "This is a new chapter," she said to Will. "He shouldn't _still_ be drunk, should he?"

Will shook his head. "I don't know. That absinth was funny stuff. That, and the fact that he kept drinking it after we left to put Dana to bed, kind of worries me." He smiled. "After all, Jack didn't walk so straight to begin with."

Captain Melanie Cash, Will and a meandering Jack were making their way back to the _Yellow Dart_. Melanie and Will had first tucked Dana (very securely) into a cabin on Melanie's ship, and then had gone back to the _Not-Exactly-a-Pub_ for Jack. They had found him under a table, muttering about lizards and golf shoes ("Golf?" Will had asked) and brandishing the absinthe bottle like a spear. Loretta had fixed him some tea, but he had refused to drink it until it was poured into his bottle. It was this that he occasionally sloshed into his mouth as Melanie and Will helped him lurch down the road.

"And isn't that just like us," said Melanie as Will angled Jack away from a mailbox. "_We're_ the ones to look after people ... to put them to bed – "

" – to sit and watch them get drunk in the first place," Will agreed. "I guess we're just straight arrows when it comes to drinking." Jack burped loudly.

"A person ought to do something about that."

Will gazed levelly at Melanie. "What do you suggest?"

She thought about that. "One of these days I think we're going to have to have our own adventure, and it'll be _this_ one that's steering us down the street." She tugged on one of Jack's braids, but he didn't notice. He was too busy scanning the surrounding darkness with large eyes.

_No point mentioning these bats_, he thought. _Those poor bastards will see them soon enough._

* * *

Morning broke on the open water, bright and clear and completely unseen by Jack and Dana. They were still shut up in their respective cabins aboard the _Dart_, and both were still asleep. On the deck above them, Melanie's first mate Matthew kept watch of the horizon. His eyes were as bright and clear as the morning, and blue and quick in their study of the line made by sky and water.

He was perched, barefoot and tussle-haired, on the deck's railing with his knees drawn up to his chest. When the little waif Carly clambered down out of the ship's rigging, he turned towards her, and the shine of the sun briefly lit his blonde hair into a halo of gold. The small brown-skinned girl sprang to the railing alongside him, gripping a rope overhead with one hand and the smooth wood of the railing with her toes. Matthew smiled at her. "Where's Milton?"

"I left him to finish untying some knots for me," Carly replied. She squinted into the shuddering mass of sail and rope above her. "He hasn't had breakfast yet, so he should be down soon." She looked back towards the horizon. "Any sign?"

Matthew shrugged. "That's not why I sit here. Besides, if there were land to be spied, Monica'd be the first to see it." Indeed, the lookout of the _Yellow Dart_ had an uncanny ability to see both long and far. "I watch," Matthew continued, "because if there is something to see, I would like to see it myself."

Carly plunked down on her bottom beside him. "Do you know why we're going back to Tortuga? I do."

"Melanie mentioned something about a tournament. She's going to sign up for it."

"Uh huh. A tourney. And a prize that's 'heaven sent.'"

Matthew yawned. "I've been up too long, little one. What prize is this?"

"We-e-e-e-ell ..." Carly kicked her bare feet. "No one knows. So it must be great."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's a tournament for pirates, you great fool," Carly said. "If they told pirates what the prize was, they'd just steal it!" Matthew laughed.

"True enough. But now, Monkey, why speak to me of the Captain's business?"

The girl turned her face to his and caught his blue eye with a brown one that was surprisingly both deep and cunning. "First, the contest calls for teams o' four ... "

* * *

Jack and Dana traded their dark, enclosed cabin rooms aboard the _Dart_ for the dark, enclosed pub beneath the _Cliffs of Insanity_ hostel when they landed in Tortuga. Melanie had bid her crew remain on the ship ("Tonight, Tortuga bares true teeth," she had advised before leaving them) and she and Will had taken Jack and Dana with them into the thick of the evening.

The hostel as meeting place was well-suited; buried deep in Tortugan streets and sulking in shadows where happier sights and lights did not care to reach. It soon became clear, as Jack and company claimed one of the few remaining tables, that the QuatriPirate Tournament's advertising had done its job well. Brigands of every shape and size conceivable shoved into the pub. But the importance of the meeting was given away by the fact that few ordered drinks or found reasons to maim one another: a gruff nervousness had descended upon the mass, and time and again came the savage crack of great knuckles.

Jack hailed a terrified-looking serving girl. He won her at once with a slight smile and a brief brush of fingers, and pleaded with her for strong coffee and light ale. As she disappeared agreeably into the throng, Jack turned to his three companions.

"Now pay attention." Each leaned close. Dana's eyes were fatigue-rimmed under the brim of her cap, but were nonetheless fixed on Jack with a gunslinger's sharp attention. Will's face was flushed with excitement and his hair was splayed over his shoulders. Tortuga had a way of renewing him, and the scattered candlelight danced in his eyes like faerie-fire. Melanie's dark eyes had been moving over the faces in the room with a practiced attentiveness. Pirates, she knew, organized themselves for reasons that were precious few: to kill things, to plunder things, or to listen impatiently to how they might accomplish the above. She glanced now at Jack.

"This place is going to fill to the rafters with pirates, scoundrels, low-lives, bandits, thieves, and – the lesser-feared – nogoodnicks. But that is not a matter because we are neither blushing coquettes nor rigid statesmen. What _should_ be of concern," he said, holding up a single ringed finger, "is the fact that each of these dames and fellows are here because they are your competition. Mark them, and make them your quarry instead." Dana smiled. It resembled a small animal baring its teeth.

"You and I know that every thug here qualifies for this tournament – it'd be absurd to show up if they didn't in one way or another – and that means that each one falls into one o' the four categories that you do." He grinned. "The less competition, the better the games, I always say. But mind that I'm not the only one with such a philosophy. Be wary, and be dangerous."

Jack would have continued, if not for the hush that had fallen over the teeming crowd. From the doorway came a figure, the judge of the QuatriPirate Tournament, flanked on all sides by impossibly tall and fine-boned young men. They were dark skinned and moved with a smoothness that made Melanie think briefly of stealthy alley cats. But that was not where her attention should have been, she discovered when Dana elbowed her and pointed. Her attention should have been on the man that they were safeguarding, because as he stepped lightly up onto the raised wooden stage that had been placed at the front of the room a hushed awe fell over everyone. He unnecessarily raised his hands for silence, and behind his black mask, his eyes twinkled.

And the Dread Pirate Roberts was met with loud applause.


	8. Holding Your Own

Author's Note – _I didn't invent the Dread Pirate Roberts. Go read/watch Morgenstern's The Princess Bride._

Chapter Eight

The Dread Pirate Roberts was blade-thin and moved with a confidence and grace that would have been suited to a great dancer: no movement was wasted or without purpose. When the applause had died away, he lowered his hands and turned his smile around the room.

"Oy," Dana exclaimed quietly. "The Dread Pirate Roberts he may be, but that certainly isn't Wesley!" Will leaned forward to take a second look, and was surprised to see that she was quite right. The Dread Pirate Roberts from whom he and Dana Flint had once liberated Melanie's _Yellow Dart_ was indeed a very different Dread Pirate Roberts than the man who stood commanding their attention.

Wesley, the Dread Pirate Roberts at that time, had been a handsome farm boy behind that infamous black mask – blonde and blue-eyed and charming once one looked past the 'dread' exterior that came with his career. The three had become friends during their brief encounter, friends enough that Wesley had been so game as to return Melanie's ship and point them in the direction of the island on which he had marooned Jack and its captain. And, after conversing with them, Wesley had been convinced it was time to return to the loving woman who awaited his return.

_This_ Dread Pirate Roberts was very clearly a Spaniard. He was more finely built than Wesley had been. His skin was a smooth olive color, and his black moustache and mass of hair were both in a neat array. When he spoke, his voice was polished and foreign: there was a strong Spanish note to it.

"My kinsman," he began. The rapier at his hip gleamed as it caught the light and served as a useful reminder of the man's nature in opposition to his current cordial tone. The Dread Pirate Roberts was the terror of the Seven Seas – a man whose very name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of brave men. "I am very pleased to see you all here tonight. Hello. My name is the Dread Pirate Roberts. You have answered this summons; now prepare yourselves."

He dipped a black-gloved hand into a pocket, produced a coin, and in a loud voice cried:

"_The first has strength and truth in shot;  
The next will pinch all that we've got.  
A third knows well the blade's bright shine;  
The last partakes 'til blood is brine_.

_All champions wrought with pirate lore  
Are scoundrel's heart, when cut in four.  
The prize, you'll swear, was heaven-sent -  
Prepare ye ... 'tis a QuatriPirate Tournament_."

The crowd bellowed happily and stomped their feet. The skittish serving girl returned with Jack's drinks and vanished again. Amidst the din, he nudged the mug of coffee towards Dana with a finger. She sipped it reluctantly.

Jack clacked his teeth against the glass of his own bottle and was pleased to see that both the young blacksmith and the mistress of the _Yellow Dart_ were becoming as excited about the QuatriPirate Tournament as the drove that surrounded them: Melanie and Will were stomping and hooting as well, while Dana was observing the Dread Pirate Roberts with a kind of weary interest over the rim of her cup. Jack supposed – not incorrectly – that that she was slightly sore about her loss of face in their little drinking contest. He could handle a gunslinger that was bruised in spirit, Jack thought, as long as he could be certain that the blow to her pride had not damaged her trigger fingers.

As Roberts went over each contest category in detail, Jack searched the faces of the crowd for any that he recognized, or did not care to recognize. There was no one to be concerned with thus far, and he was glad of it. Then, in the doorway, he spied a familiar mass of curly brown hair and the black and white fur and curled tail of a capuchin monkey. He strained for a better look, but the crowd shifted and the figure was swallowed up. Jack frowned.

"And thus, you have all gathered here to test your might and your luck against one another. The team of four pirates that surpasses all others will be revered and feared for the remainder of their lifetime amidst all piratekind. But I warn you friends," the Dread Pirate Roberts narrowed his eyes, "for the majority of you, this competition will not be easy, or even possible. This tournament has been prepared very carefully and will draw ilk from across many seas. I am but one judge, and this is but one land."

He paused, and let that information be absorbed. There were few and scattered murmurs. Will glanced sidelong at Jack, but the pirate's expression had not changed.

Roberts went on. "Competition shall be fierce, and moreso because not all teams gathered here will be allowed to compete. We shall accept only a limited number of teams." _This_ had an effect on the crowd. Several people shouted angrily and there was the sound of a bottle being broken. The Dread Pirate Roberts seemed unfazed, and instead held up a tightly rolled parchment.

"Bite your rotted tongues, friends, and mind these instructions instead of wasting your pungent breath! Each team here tonight shall receive a map to an island, and it is _there_ that our fine tournament shall have its beginning. For is it not true that every man and woman here is as at home on the water as the governor's ass in his chair?" The room filled with raucous laughter, and Will thought that the atmosphere was becoming more agreeable. He found himself quite liking his silver-tongued dread pirate.

"Now, because the lot of you are exquisitely untrustworthy – indeed, friends, if you were otherwise I would not find you half so admirable – there are several rules in place to make sure every team is given a most fair chance to find our island." The pirate smiled, and his teeth were a startling white in his dark face. "Firstly, no team shall depart from here for a fortnight. None. To ensure this, each team will leave this place with a companion that will keep careful watch over you – but that is for later. Secondly, all members of your team must be signed up here, and these four must set foot on the tournament island at the same time: there shall be no hasty teammate to reserve a place for the others. Lastly –" It was here that his dark eyes flashed behind his black mask, and Will was momentarily reminded of Jack's own good-natured madness, "- only the first four teams to reach the island shall compete. No others. The tournament, then, begins before the island is even reached."

There came a loud mixture of cheers and complaints at this last addition, but it seemed that the Dread Pirate Roberts had said all that he was prepared to. One of the men at his side passed him a large, leather-bound tome and produced a quill, which Roberts held aloft with a nod. At this signal, there was a violent lurching forward as teams were eager to be registered.

Will turned to Jack, half out of his chair, but the pirate shook his head. "Hold for now," Jack said softly. He drained the last of his bottle and settled back. Melanie and Dana looked at one another and shrugged. Apparently there was no rush.

Instead, the four of them studied the teams clustered around Roberts. The make and model of each hopeful participant varied wildly: there were both wizened old salties with cackling laughs and missing teeth and polished youths with quick eyes and quicker fingers. Melanie and Dana were pleased to notice that though the men grossly outnumbered them, there were still several women. Melanie took particular note of a young woman wound in layers of colored cloth with dual and savage-looking knives strapped to her boots. She smiled slightly as the woman casually dipped her hand into the pocket of a teammate who bent forward to scrawl his name for Roberts.

As they watched, the pirates signed themselves – or were signed – into the book and were carefully ushered, team by team, into a small room. The wooden door closed behind each. It must have exited outside the pub, because they did not see anyone emerge.

After a time, Jack leaned forward and folded his arms on the tabletop. His eyes were bright, and shifted from Will to Dana to Melanie. They stopped on her. "Cash. Any noteworthy pickpockets?"

"Many pickpocks," she replied. "Few noteworthy."

To Dana: "Did you count holsters?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Not many worth my attention."

Jack allowed himself a small smile. "I would hate to think that we're all being overconfident, but I'll accept that from one so aged and wise as yourself." Dana did her best to glare at him, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Jack turned to Will.

"And you? How does the size of your sword compare to the menfolk here?" Dana and Melanie started to giggle. Will turned pink.

"Nothing to worry about. I can hold my own." Dana and Melanie exploded into howls of laughter and nearly fell out of their seats. Will opened his mouth to say something indignant when Jack silenced them by pushing his chair away from the table and standing.

Largely ignoring the sobs of despair from the bar staff upon sight of the sorry state of the pub, Melanie and Dana wiped their streaming eyes and followed Jack to where the judge of the QuatriPirate tournament stood. They were the last team in the room. The Dread Pirate Roberts grinned as they approached.

"Please do not think me strange," he said in his Spanish lilt, "but I think that I know who you are already. You must be the possessors of the only names that I have not seen put down in this book." He handed the book to Jack and removed his black gloves. Hands bare, he shook hands warmly with both Dana and Will. "Dana Flint and William Turner?"

They both looked very surprised. "Er, yes. Yes we are. But how do you ... ?"

The Dread Pirate Roberts clapped Will on the shoulder. "As I'm sure you have guessed, I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts that you met before."

"You mean in Geheimnis's other charming story _The Sting of the Yellow Dart_?" plugged Will shamelessly.

"In both chapter eight: _Paradise – Compliments of Roberts_ and chapter seventeen: _The Dread Pirate Roberts – Revisited_?" Dana chimed in. The author smiled from behind the bar where she was polishing glasses. Her personal assistant, Agent Sands in his black cowboy hat, was perched on the counter.

"Exactly," replied the Dread Pirate Roberts. "I am not that man. In actuality, my name is Inigo Montoya." He looked intensely into the distance. "Wesley and I, we were like brothers. We stood together, we fought together, we were victorious together!" There was a tear in one of his eyes. "Then, when Wesley was reunited with his love, he say to me, 'Inigo. I have been the Dread Pirate Roberts for far too long. Now that I have come back to my Buttercup, would you consider a career in piracy?'

I say to him, 'My friend. You have helped me avenge the death of my father. Anything you ask of me, I shall do!' And here I am."

Will seemed pleased. "I'm very glad for Wesley. But how is it that you know who we are?"

The Dread Pirate Roberts – Inigo – laughed. "Very often did Wesley speak of the ones who convinced him that true love was greater than even the sea. He spoke of William Turner, who nearly bested him in swordplay, and of Dana Flint, whose spirit and quick tongue he could not forget. He knew you would attend this contest, and asked me to keep watch for you and write to tell him if you did. And so I shall. So I shall." He smiled as he took the book from Jack, who had signed his name, and held it out to both Dana and Will. "All that remains is for me to see your pirate brands – a silly formality I am sure – and I can give you the rest of your – "

"Wait, wait," interrupted Dana as Melanie and Jack were unbuttoning their blouses or rolling up their sleeves obligingly. "Pirate brands? What pirate brands?"

Inigo pointed to the puckered, pink 'P' on Jack's arm, and the one burned into the skin above Melanie's heart. "These. All pirates have them, Dana Flint, I need only to see yours to allow you to compete. I see everyone's."

"We don't have pirate brands," Will said. "We aren't actually pirates." Inigo's smile vanished. He squinted at the two of them.

"Wesley never mentioned – "

"Wesley never _asked_ if we were pirates!" Will protested. Eyes wide, he turned to Dana. "You don't think that he just assumed ... "

Dana smacked herself in the forehead with the heel of her palm. "Now that I think about it, we didn't really give him any reason to think otherwise."

Inigo was shaking his head. "Then I am sorry. I cannot allow you – "

"Now wait just a moment," Jack interjected. He stepped between Inigo and Dana and Will. "Pirate brands are the problem? That isn't a problem. Not a worry. We'll take care of that. Just write those names down and we'll be ship-shape in that fortnight."

"What are you talking about, Jack?" asked Dana over his shoulder. "How are -" Jack clapped a ringed hand over her mouth and smiled at Inigo.

"I assure you, sir. It won't be a problem."

Inigo looked doubtful, but he penned the remaining names in the book. "You are friends of Wesley. I will take your word and allow you to enter. But I must see those brands before the contest begins."

"Excellent!" said Jack. "Excellent! That gives us a fortnight!" He grinned toothily at Inigo and turned Dana away from him and towards the exit that was the smaller room. Dana looked at Jack, puzzled, but Jack kept smiling until the four of them were out of earshot of the Dread Pirate Roberts.

"What are we going to do, Jack? They don't have pirate brands!" Melanie hissed quietly.

Dana swallowed hard. Will paled.

Jack continued to grin. "Well, pet, the answer to that is simple enough, isn't it? We're going to make them pirates!"

From behind the bar, the author chuckled.


	9. Eyes of the Crow

Author's Note – _Loo loo loo, I've got some apples .... Loo loo loo, you've got some, too .... Loo loo loo, let's make applesauce ..._

Chapter the Ninth

There were five chairs around the table of the captain's cabin aboard the _Yellow Dart_. An indignant gunslinger seethed in one chair while the _Dart's_ captain smirked opposite her. A blacksmith with dark circles under his eyes sat biting his lip in another. In the fourth chair, the ordinarily suave and sultry pirate Jack was rapidly losing his composure.

"Let's – let's just go over this again, shall we?" Jack's face was in his dark hand and he spoke through his teeth.

Dana's reply was biting. "There isn't anything to go over." She leaned over the table towards him. "You'll not mar any part of me with that foul brand, contest or not. _That_ isn't part of what I'm supposed to do here. I'm supposed to shoot. I'm supposed to win." Her eyes blazed in the shadows cast by the low brim of her hat.

Jack growled. "What you don't seem to understand," he said, lifting his head to glare at her squarely, "is that without a pirate brand, you aren't pirate. If you aren't pirate, you don't compete in a pirate's tourney!"

Captain Melanie Cash watched the interplay with unmasked pleasure. While she and Dana Flint might certainly have been called friends, the tension that had once existed between them – a tension that had culminated with Dana's previous kidnapping of Jack for bounty money – had never entirely disappeared. Instead, it had evolved into a mutual (reluctant) admiration with just enough venom left in it to make occasional smirks like these all right. And they were especially all right when they involved Dana and _Jack_, because the fact that both would rather be flayed than yield could be fantastically entertaining.

Though the aiming of Jack's ire towards Dana Flint instead of himself was certainly relieving, Will didn't seem to be enjoying himself to the extent that Melanie was. He had – and Jack knew – no problem with having himself branded pirate. There was a secret pride in mirroring what his father had been, and more and more often, the ocean view outside of his smithy window had stirred something in Will that he could not name. Now, at least, he could give it a shape and a place. No, one searing moment did not bother him. Will was in one chair, Melanie was reclining in the second, and Jack was trying not to leapt out of his chair and across the table to where Dana was sitting rigid in hers: what had been bothering Will was chair number five.

Perched atop the table's fifth chair was a crow. Will had been trying to avoid eye contact with it, and honestly couldn't tell whether or not he was successful: that there seemed to be no difference in the outward appearance of the crow's eyes and its flashing eyelids lent it a look of constant attention. It occasionally ruffled its dusty black feathers and shifted its bulk on the top of the chair, making Will grit his teeth against the scrape of talon on polished wood.

Though no one else at Melanie's table seemed to acknowledge the ungainly dark bird, Will could not help looking forward to the appearance of Carly, the _Yellow Dart's_ youngest crewmember. Her finesse with unruly animals would have calmed the fifth member of their table, Will was certain, never mind the fact that the crow had purposely been assigned to them to unsettle their nerves.

Half-listening to Jack snarl something about Dana's dangerous choice of pirates to let down, Will recalled the Dread Pirate Robert's – Inigo's – parting words to their party as he had passed the grumbling crow from his arm to Jack's:

"This last one's yours." The room that had been adjacent to the _Cliffs of Insanity_ pub had been tiny and poorly lit. There had been no furniture in it – it had been a room for business and moving on. "Understand, friends, that these crows are highly trained," said the Dread Pirate Roberts in a haughty and official voice. "They will rend your eyes and those of your teammates from your heads the moment you leave this port, if that moment is before the designated date of departure for the QuatriPirate Tournament."

Dana, sulking with her jacket collar up at the time, had not commented. It was Will that had spoken up, sputtering, "I thought you said Dana and I had time to be branded! If that crow – "

The Dread Pirate Roberts had snorted. "William Turner," he replied, the Spanish in his voice stretching the vowels in Will's name. Melanie had chuckled. "William, what friend to Wesley would I be if I let his friends' eyes be torn away, hmm? My little speech is for all pirate teams, but you and I have a special agreement I shall not alter. This crow," he gestured towards it, and it glowered at him, "would ordinarily be told to start keeping careful, careful watch on the four of you. If you approached the ocean, it would be wary, and if you entered the ocean, your eyes would hang from its claws.

"I give you this crow, and it still shall watch you because it is trained for vigilance. I do not, however, signal it to act upon its vigilance until you and Dana Flint have returned with your brands. For that, I give you one week." The Dread Pirate Roberts had warm brown eyes, but behind the black mask stretched across them they became invisible and mysterious. The crow's intelligent, unreadable eyes would later remind Will of the same. "One week, William Turner and Dana Flint. Prove these brands to me, and spend your remaining week in preparation. The crow's watchfulness shall be deadly serious then."

Jack had not been pleased with sacrificing his arm for the crow's perch. He had first tried to examine the thing, but it had squawked so menacingly when he moved that he had resigned himself to holding his arm as far away from his body as possible. "Why bother to give us the bird now?" he had asked.

"If another pirate team saw you exit without your own fierce guardian of contest rules, they would not be happy, and I think they would complain to me a great deal." The Dread Pirate had smiled and drawn a gloved finger across his throat. "And I … would have to kill them. This contest could notstand for complaints and questioning. No, better this way. Better a crow for appearance first and with watchful eye later."

Sitting now in the _Yellow Dart's_ cabin, Will would have loved to let the crow remain with Roberts and his men for the week, but he understood the need to keep it temporarily close. Their team of four did not need to attract the wrath of fellow pirates yet – there were flames enough between they four as it was.

"You lost the drinking contest!" Jack cried and threw his hands into the air. "We had an agreement! You agreed to – "

"You KIDNAPPED me," returned Dana. She had removed her hat in order to stare Jack full in the face, and it was clenched in her fists. "I live with that, because I deserved it. But this is something completely different! You're asking me to become something that I'm not!" Will nearly shrank away from the fire in Dana's eyes.

"You can become nothing you do not desire, gunslinger!" Jack's voice was full of contempt. "And, love, what difference is there between the life of a pirate and the low life of gunpowder and blood in shadows that you have been living until now?!" At Jack's comment, Melanie's mouth dropped open and Will's eyes flicked immediately to his insulted friend. Dana's face grew suddenly dark, and then, without warning, she shoved her chair back and swept out of the cabin into the late afternoon.

Jack watched her leave, seemingly taken aback. He stood before Will or Melanie could interject and started to follow her. As he strode past, Melanie grabbed gentle hold of his shirt sleeve and stopped him.

"Now is the time for that infamous silver tongue," she said softly. Jack started to say something, but Melanie dismissed it with a shake of her head. "Flint is proud and deserves to be proud. Just remember that."

Outside, on the deck with her back to the port, Dana leaned heavily on the forecastle railing. Jack regarded her back in silence for a few moments before approaching. He tried to tread softly, mindful of the heavy, aggressive sound that his boots could take on when walking across a ship's deck. She did not acknowledge him when he came to stand beside her – her eyes remained on the darkening ocean while the wind off of the water whipped her freed hair about her face.

"Dana." Jack kept his voice soft without allowing his traditional low purr to creep in. This was serious talk. He sighed. "I'm sorry for what I said. I wasn't fair, love."

Dana's voice was hard. "Understand something for me, Jack."

"I will."

"Understand that you don't understand me, just as I understand that I don't get you." Jack remained silent. She continued. "But that's not necessary in the world, because you can be happy doing what you do, and I can do the same. We can have nothing to do with one another and things willbe fine." She turned to him now, and Jack was surprised at the stone in her gray eyes.

"Problem is, I said that I would compete for you. I believed that I owed you something, Jack, for what had happened before because of me, and so here I stayed. I need to keep a balance between my debts and my offerings, and you do your best to make that impossible, it seems."

Jack smiled slightly. "If you're calling me selfish, I can't call you a liar."

"Then maybe we aren't as different as I thought." Dana started to turn towards her own cabin aboard the _Dart_. As Jack watched, the wind buffeted her long coat and momentarily raised it. He glimpsed, only briefly, the gun holsters that were criss-crossed over her pants. His mind raced as her coat swirled back in place. She was nearly across the forecastle deck when he stopped her with two words:

"A trade."

Dana glanced back over her shoulder with raised eyebrows. "A trade?"

Jack rubbed his hand over his face, then fixed her with dark eyes. "Yes. A one time offer that you shall not repeat to anyone. And you make your decision now." Dana paced back over the deck and faced him. Her boots brought her nearly to his eye level, and she held his stare. Jack reached to his belt.

"You win your part of the contest, as a pirate, and you get this." Dana's eyes widened, and she started to reach out a hand to touch what he offered, then drew it back, uncertain.

"But Jack, I couldn't …"

"You couldn't, or you won't?" Jack's voice was even, calculating. His eyes were devoid now of their usual mad mirth; Jack was often squirrelly, but he could easily, Dana was learning, become a fox.

"If I enter as pirate, I'm going to win, Jack."

"I know. I need you. This is being offered only once – only now."

The gunslinger grinned suddenly and wickedly. "Then, mycaptain, we have a deal." And, as Jack proffered it, Dana Flint took hold of the warm metal of Jack Sparrow's pistol and called it her own.


	10. Becoming Pirate

Author's Note – _We're all mad here!_

Chapter Ten

Water, water everywhere –

"So let's all 'ave a drink!" Jack roared and smashed his tankard against that of the unsuspecting man at the table beside him, knocking out a good half of its contents. Before the man's bewildered gaze could shift from his abruptly empty mug to the man responsible, Jack had already merrily downed his drink and was making his way around the _Cliffs of Insanity_ tavern.

"It's a glorious night, i'nt it?" he asked the wearied barmaid and settled himself into a seat at her counter. "Properly glorious." The young woman, though overworked, was amused.

She smiled as she dunked mug after mug into the immense ale barrel. "Why's that, sir? Has fortune smiled on ye?" Jack returned her smile, gold and gleaming.

"Not by half, lass – she's sat in my lap, thrown her arms about my neck, and given me a kiss!"

"Oh, well, that's well to hear. It's a proper night for celebrating, then?"

Despite the maid's unending activity, a glass of iced wine appeared before Jack. His eyes smiled warmly at the girl over its rim as he took a sip, surprising her with his delicacy. "It is at that. Great things are about to happen … great things."

* * *

"This is ridiculous!" Will's angry shout smashed through the quiet of the night. "Nothing is going to happen here because we're not getting anywhere!"

He was hunched in a small boat with Dana and Captain Melanie. "Stop it. You're pouting," Melanie said pointedly. "I can tell in the dark."

"You can't tell in the dark."

"I can _hear_ it in your voice." Melanie was cheery. Dana was asleep. "We'll get there eventually. You shouldn't even be awake, Will. The next few days are going to be important for you."

He huffed. "They certainly will be, if we get anywhere. How far away is the island supposed to be?" The little boat that he and his two female companions were in was destined for an island that Jack had only briefly explained to them, entrusting Melanie to fill in his gaps on their trip. But Melanie seemed to enjoy repeating what Will already knew.

"You'll see _La Isla de Sueños._ Soon." Will heard her open her canteen in the dark and take a swig of water.

"It certainly is taking a long time."

Melanie laughed. "You've been at sea for a day! It takes longer than that. Why are you being such a colossal grump? Dana seems to be taking this all right."

"Dana's asleep! I'm thirsty because you said we aren't allowed anything to eat or drink." He shivered inside his jacket and tried to let the rocking of the boat lull him to sleep. The cold kept cutting in. The sharp wind kept cutting in. And Melanie, beside him, hit him.

"Is that what's got you all worked up? I _told_ you that you're allowed to drink. In fact, it would speed up the process if you did. It's just got to be inebriating, that's all. Why can't you be like Dana? She's not near as excited about this as you are, but she's jumped in with both feet."

"And a beer bottle," Will commented as Dana burped softly in her sleep. He sighed. "I'm nervous, that's all. I've wanted this for a long time."

There came the soft metal tinkle of Melanie's jewelry as she shook her head in the dark. "You're a romantic. Only you would be up at night, nervous about becoming pirate."

"No one's told me what I'm going to have to do!"

"You really want to know? You want me to tell you what you're going to have to do to before you can be a pirate? It's simple."

Will sat up. "Yes!" Melanie shifted, and in the weak light cast by the clouded-over Caribbean moon, faced her friend. She leaned close, as though Dana's sleeping figure might be eavesdropping.

"You've got to prove that you're mad."

* * *

Jack was drunk, but that was all right. The evening in Tortuga was young yet, but he had decided to retire back to Melanie's ship and to bed. He had preparations to make before Melanie – and two fresh salts – returned. He walked carefully up the _Yellow Dart's_ gangplank and onto the ship, where some of the crewmembers were still awake, judging by the occasional candlelight that he passed on his way to his cabin.

He opened his cabin door, forgetting for a moment the guest that was inside. The crow screeched at Jack's intrusion and flapped heavily from its perch on the bed's headboard out the door. Jack wasn't concerned – the bird was trained to watch him and so would not stray far.

He wrinkled his nose as he picked black feathers from his blankets and cast about for a candle. He was a guest on the _Yellow Dart_, and so the drawers of his cabin were empty. He tottered from his room onto the deck, and was about to cross to the crew's quarters to ask for a candle of his own when a feathered commotion caught his wandering attention. Not far from him, the black crow seemed to be engaged in a fight –

With another crow.

"Now, now. What's this about?" he hurried over, vision swimming, and waved his hands at the circling, crying birds. Both caught sight of his glittering rings, and abandoned trying to peck one another to gaze at them. Jack kept his hands moving and looked at each crow in turn. "Now I'll be damned-" he started, "well, more damned, if I can tell which of you belongs t' me and which is an unwelcome caller on my friend's ship. Speak up, now! Who is who?"

Unsurprisingly, neither bird made a move, but Jack was so intent on them that he leapt, startled, when the little waif Carly dropped down from the rigging to the deck beside him. "Evenin' Captain Sparrow," she said shyly. Jack smiled broadly at her and clapped her on her slender back.

"Carly, lass! Just the little monkey I need! I remember that you've a knack with animals, delicious and not-delicious-" Jack either ignored or did not see Carly's eyes grow huge in horror at his flippant remark, "So which of these terrible monsters is mine?" The girl held out her thin brown arm, and the bird nearest Jack alighted on it.

"No this'un," she said, carefully balancing its weight. "The other's yours, Master Sparrow." Jack leaned close to the girl and put his mouth to her ear.

"I wouldn't speak so loudly about that, littlest love," he said confidentially. "A sparrow's a great deal smaller than a carrion seeker large as this." She laughed and looked up at him.

"Don't worry, sir. I'll keep an eye on that bird for you." She turned to leave with the crow on her arm, when Jack experienced a muddled moment of realization.

"What're _you_ doin' with one of these vile birds, Carly?"

She turned abruptly, cheeks scarlet, and surely would have answered if Jack's crow hadn't chosen that moment to swoop at his hands, meaning to snatch away one of his rings. Jack bellowed, and shouted a string of curses at the crow who perched, naturally, at the top of the crow's nest. When he looked back, Carly and her crow were gone.


	11. Will's Council

Chapter Eleven

It was only when the small boat fetched up against the thick sand of _La Isla de Sueños _that Will cracked open an eye. It took an effort; the sun and the salted wind that had enveloped him for the last two days had taught him that it was wiser to keep his eyes decisively shut. He managed one. He and his companions had made their way, evidently, to one of the many nondescript islands that sat scattered in this corner of the Caribbean like a handful of crumbs flung to a pigeon – arguably, they were only so big.

What he saw – with two eyes and eventually focused vision – was a shore of fine sand in startling near-white. The gleam of the beach was cut off by the shade cast by the border on the shore's other side, where the tree trunks were thin and curved; the massive thickness of the foliage was due only to the great number of trees that stood with their fronds moving slightly in the wind.

To Will, it looked eerily like they were shuddering.

He turned to Melanie. "This is it?" She nodded and stood to stretch, but did not seem to see him. Instead, her eyes wandered over the beach sands and the trees that lined it. "It's small," Will ventured, and earned a small smile from the mistress of the _Yellow Dart_.

"It's all that's needed. Believe me."

Will glanced back at Dana, who was remaining silent. Though her mouth was set in a grim line, her eyes were bright and measuring the nuances of the island as thoroughly as Melanie's. Sharp grey eyes, however, lacked the childlike, almost fond nostalgia of warm brown ones. Melanie, Will suspected – though he thought it not yet the time to ask – was surely reliving her own time on this island. How many years ago it had been, he could not guess, and he idly supposed this was because the vitality brought about by the vigors of piracy was rather different for men and women.

There were similarities, of course. Once, aboard the _Pearl_, Jack and Ana Maria had shown Will their hands, palms up, and he had been surprised to discover that he could not tell the difference between them. They had both been heavily browned and calloused, and the life lines on each had been like furrows. They were pirate hands - stone-rough and otter-quick.

But there was little else that could be compared between a he- and a she-pirate. A he-pirate's life was a frantic orgy of coin shine and ale musk wrapped in sea/sky. So too was pirate life for a woman, but such a self-gratifying way seemed to drink the youth out of pirate men, parching them and making them squint-eyed and knotted before their time, while pirate women seemed hardly to age at all. Will thought of Melanie and Ana Maria. What was it in the ocean wind that would erupt beard and split cracks on the face of a he-pirate, but smooth the cheeks and sleek the hair of a woman? It was indeed strange, but if a man could be said to find his wife in the open water, surely a woman could find a kindred spirit – a soul mate, an Other – in the vast blue.

Naturally, Jack Sparrow defied – consciously or unconsciously – Will's thoughts on pirate vitality. The _Black Pearl's_ captain was a man whose life spring stemmed from a source that seemed surely to be oneapart. _And far away_, Will added mentally. _And a different color._

The three climbed out of the boat and splashed through ebbing shorewater that threatened to creep in over the tops of their boots. As they hauled the boat behind them and out of the tide's reach, the hand of a Tortuga-savvy Melanie cupped her belt's coin-pouch absent-mindedly to measure its contents. It made no difference that the island they were on was nearly (but far from) deserted: such had the polished wood of Melanie's mind been carved, and one could not help but run into such grooves when one brushed fingers across its surface. Dana's mind was not altogether different, though it was not her hand that moved now, but her eyes; they were everywhere. Equal long experience had taught her the value of quiet appraisal in a world where things were rarely what they seemed to be.

"How do the two of you feel?" Melanie asked when the boat was a safe distance from the water. Though she would remain on the beach while Dana and Will ventured deeper into the island, she did not deny the fact that her attention would most likely be elsewhere. She did not want to have to mind the little boat. Being here, on this island again, was nothing short of surreal. The images that were crowding in -

"Well," Will replied. "I'm rather hungry, I'm more thirsty, I see sun spots whenever I close my eyes, and I've been thoroughly salted."

Melanie nodded. "That sounds about right. Dana Flint?" The gunslinger smiled.

"My mouth tastes like the countertop of the _Poco_ pub, but I'm otherwise fit as a fiddle." She paused and seemed to reconsider that while raising and slightly flexing her arms. "On second thought, these few foodless days have dulled everything apart from my trigger fingers. In all unfortunate honesty, I'll not be winning any contests of strength today." Will made a noise of agreement and rubbed his hands over his face.

Captain Cash did not seem to be concerned. "Now, you're both armed?" Dana rolled her eyes but Will barked a nervous laugh.

"Armed?"

"Yes, William, and to the teeth. You should both have a gun and a blade at the very least."

Dana patted the holsters at her hips. "Firepower I've got, but there's not a blade on me." Will moved to fetch his sword and scabbard from the boat.

"And I'm gunless, but I can lend you a blade as long as you promise not to lose it."

"I can lend you a gun, Will," Dana returned over her shoulder. "As long as you promise not to use it." Melanie laughed, and Dana feigned seriousness. "What? Have you seen him shoot? My guns have an unsmirched reputation and I'd like to keep it that way." Blacksmith and gunmistress exchanged weapons and attached them appropriately before facing the captain of the _Yellow Dart_. She studied them intently for a moment before speaking.

The ocean air began to dance more furiously as the day wore into late afternoon, and Melanie had to make an effort to keep her words from being snatched away by the wind. "You're about to become pirates," she said, and could not help but grin. Both returned the smile, though it was Will's that was unmistakably genuine. "You are about to enter the dregs of society by becoming lord and lady of the ocean. You gain a brotherhood by shirking the company of all else – all family, all friends. That pirate brand is going to seal this voluntary choosing of fate." She tugged open the top of her shirt to reveal the pink 'P' seared into the brown flesh above her heart. She tapped it, and repeated, "A choice of fate. A pirate takes his life and his fate into his own hands. It is no one's but his own. _That_ is piracy. _That_ is why we are so feared." She smiled ruefully. "Freedom."

"Glory," Dana added quietly, and Will nodded.

Melanie grasped each of their shoulders. "That said, off into the jungle you go kids. I'll be here, waiting for a pair of scallywags, if you need me."

"You're not coming with us?" Dana asked.

"Not necessary," was the reply. "Just remember that it's one at a time when you get there, and meet me when you're done." She turned them both by the shoulder, and after glancing at one another, they started walking towards the line of trees that bordered the beach.

Melanie watched their retreating backs, recalling suddenly her own trek into the jungle and what had come before it. She and Carine had been so young, so small. Her father had towered over her then, all chest and arms and voice. He had spoken to them gently on that day.

"_My little ones," he had said, and they had both beamed up at him, nearly twin-like with their dark, face-framing hair and brown-black eyes. "Today is an important day."_

"_We're going t' be like you!" Carine had chirped, and her father laughed._

"_That's right, my _petite fille, _but only if you want to be like me. You know I am a pirate," he said, and they had both nodded breathlessly. "But just because my blood flows in your body, that does not mean that you are a pirate here – " he tapped Melanie's small chest, over her heart, with a finger, "– you are not a pirate unless you _want_ to be. Are you both certain that you are making the choice that you wish?" Instead of answering, both girls had thrown their arms around his waist and squeezed him tightly._

_And then they went into the trees._

* * *

Will was growing tired of waiting. There had been the long wait of the boat ride. There had been the long, winding trek on the jungle path that had exhausted him and covered him in spider webbing and tree saps. _But_, whispered a voice in the back of his mind, a voice that had slowly been edging its way to the front, _but you've really waited years for this day, haven't you? Perhaps you've waited your entire life_. He did not argue. 

He stood at the entrance of a cave. It was deep in the forest, covered in growth and green, and would have been unremarkable – perhaps even missed by the tramping pair – if not for the signpost set in the ground outside its dark mouth. The sign was simple wood, and burned onto its surface (_branded on, _Will's mindvoice had insisted) was a skull and crossed-bones insignia. There was no mistaking the place. Dana had entered first.

But that had been a lengthy time ago. Will was beginning to fidget. He refused to pace – too many overly friendly spiders in this neck of the woods - and he could not help but notice that the sky was beginning to darken. He considered unsheathing his sword to stretch his arms, but decided against it. Dana hadn't taken the time to warm up. It might be unfair. After all, if he needed to -

- but then, after what had seemed an impossibly long time, Dana Flint emerged. Her mouth, though smiling, was decisively closed and there was a dancing light in her eyes. Will shouted happily and opened his arms to wrap her in a hug, then reconsidered.

"Your brand? Where …?"

She opened her coat and pointed toward her hip, just in front of the leather holster at her side, but was careful not to touch the skin beneath her shirt. A gunslinger made pirate, the gleam in her eyes told him, but a gunslinger nonetheless. Will let out a whoop of relieved air. "So you've done it." Dana nodded and smiled, then jerked her head towards the cave mouth.

"Your turn."

* * *

At first, the cave appeared to be as nondescript on the inside as it was on the outside. The tunnel ceiling was comfortably taller than Will, and he could not touch the rocky cave sides even with both arms outstretched as he walked. As the afternoon light grew smaller behind him he came upon torches bolted into the walls on either side, apart at regular intervals and blazing brightly. 

Gradually, the tunnel floor became smoother under his feet, and eventually led him to a large wooden door that blocked the tunnel entirely. It was ancient and smooth, and was marked only on the shining brass of its knob. There, the letter P was etched in script so fine it might have been inked there by a quill. Will ran his thumb over it before opening the door.

The door opened onto a sight that was completely startling after the rocky, semi-dark tunnel. A fireplace roared immediately before him. A painting of blues and greens hung above it, illuminated by firelight – as was everything else in the grand room: four chairs, evidently in red velvet, ringed the fire. Beside each were small tables, one with a decanter of amber liquid and the others graced by fine glassware. A vast, thick carpet was under them with white tassels all about its edges. To Will's left were three tall bookcases, neatly brimming, and to his right was a long, unset oak table and a curtained alcove.

At the sound of the door opening, a figure stepped out from behind the curtain and grandly into the center of the room. He was the picture of finely tailored elegance, from his dark, curled wig and oiled mustache to the shining brass buckles of his shoes. The only mar on the man's perfection was his hand – or lack of one – that he raised to Will in greeting.

"Afternoon, lad," he said amiably as Will shook hands with the gleaming appendage. "My name is –"

"Hook," Will offered with a weak smile and released the shining metal. Could this man truly be …

"Precisely!" The gentleman said, pleased. "And you are?"

"William Turner, sir."

"William Turner? No! Not _the_ William Turner Junior? Surely not?"

"I am, sir."

The well-dressed Captain Hook looked to be beside himself. "Well then lad, it seems that both of our reputations precede us – how perfectly excellent!"

Will found it difficult to find and keep hold of his voice. "You really are _the_ James Hook?" The man laughed and stroked his moustache with his namesake.

"I know of no others. But similarly, I knew only one Bill Turner, years ago that it was. And – yes! Come in, boy, come in! Step out of those shadows there! Yes, yes you are, aren't you?" The man appraised Will warmly. "Such a time ago, it certainly was. Your father was only a lad, you know, when he came to stand before myself and the other Council members – barely sixteen if I remember correctly. Finest fencer – finest _duelist_ – of his time, I have no doubt about that. You certainly look as he did then: hair more tame, to be sure, but an _uncanny_ likeness." Hook seemed finally to hear his own relentless enthusiasm and put on a more sober tone.

"I heard what happened to him aboard the _Black Pearl_, and I can only offer my deepest regrets. Your father was a warm and brilliant man, a testament to the benefits of growing older and wiser –" he seemed to catch himself, then continued. "He was a pirate that was one of a kind. Although …" Hook trailed off, then smiled largely. "Perhaps there shall be two such pirates to have graced the waters with their presence! I can only assume why you are here, lad."

Will straightened his shoulders. "That's right."

"Excellent! Excellent! You make a father proud!" Hook clapped Will on the back with his hand. "Oh, and while I think of it, that feisty little creature who was before us moments ago, Madame Flint – is she, by any chance, your … ?" He raised his eyebrows.

"She's a good friend."

Hook nodded. "She'll make an extraordinary pirate, what with a tongue as quick as her draw. But, I'm sure you'll be able to talk about that with her later. For now, let's get to your pirate brand, shall we?"

Both men turned to the mantel above the fireplace. Lying atop it was what appeared at first glance to be a poker. It was, however, merely half a poker's length, and one end was twisted into a 'P'. Will's heart sped up as Hook lifted it and nonchalantly placed the branding end into the fire.

"The others should be along shortly," Hook remarked, facing away from Will. The fire lit his features. "Young Flint gave us quite the time, so they've had to step out for a moment, as it were. Ah, there!" He hefted the poker into the air and studied the gleaming orange metal. "What do you think?"

Will swallowed. He was still reeling from such close proximity to the legendary figure before him. Hook's nonchalance did not help put him at ease – in fact, it lent a heavy air of surrealism to the entire affair. "It looks … ready. But don't I have to - "

"Who said anythin' about bein' ready?" a voice bellowed from behind the pair, and Will spun around. Evidently the curtained alcove was home to a door or a passage, because three more men were emerging from behind it. The first man – the bellower – was enormously broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. He wore a thin, sleeveless garment, and when he stepped into the circle of firelight it was revealed to be made up of many colors – blues and greens and reds and yellows – all swirled together in a dizzying mass. Thick beard and eyebrows could not conceal the craggy smile that erupted when his gaze alighted on the young blacksmith, and the man bellowed again. "Two in one day? Well, now!"

The man sat down heavily in one of the chairs and his companions followed suit. The bellower folded his hands over his great belly: Will found himself immediately liking the man, who seemed genuinely pleased to see him, and returned his smile. Into the chair on the big man's right eased an ancient looking pirate who was thin as a reed. His tufts of eyebrows were brilliant white, and he squinted through them to get a better look at Will. The third man plopped down in another chair with a jingle of jewelry chains. He was immensely fat. Rings glittered on every sausage-sized finger and the firelight shone off of his smooth, bald head. He did not smile. All three men, Will noted, seemed unharmed. What had Dana done?

Hook was delighted to see them. "You're back! Wonderful! And guess, Rupert, just _guess_ who our second hopeful of the day is!" The first man, in the colorful sleeveless shirt laughed a deep, rich laugh and waggled a finger at Will.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say this 'un belongs to Bill Turner. Am I right, son?" Will nodded. "Well it's about _time_ we saw yer hide in these parts! To think, we'd heard you'd settled down and become a respectable tradesman!"

"All that will change!" cried Hook, who had returned the brand to the fire. "Like father, like son, I always say!"

The fat man sniffed. "We'll see," he said, in a surprisingly high voice. "The boy's not branded yet." Rupert scoffed.

"Don't mind Captain Thrasher, Will. He's never pleased t' see a new face on the planks." He winked. "Personally, I think it does him good. Leaves ye more time fer eatin' and polishing those baubles, eh?" Rupert roared laughter and clapped Thrasher on one meaty shoulder. The bald man looked distinctly unimpressed and made a great deal of smoothing the sleeves of his spotless coat. The wizened pirate laughed too, in scattered wheezes, and Hook threw a glance back over his shoulder at him.

"Careful, now Rupert," he warned mockingly. "You're liable to give Blue a hernia." He turned back to the fire and removed the orange-hot poker. "Do us a favor, William," he said. "Close that old door behind you, won't you? There's a lad."

Will did as he was asked, and shut the heavy wooden door. The sound of it closing echoed down the long tunnel. "My thanks," Hook said. "Just one thing more. Won't you turn the key in the handle? Yes, just there. And bring it here, please." The blacksmith hesitated, then turned the key in the lock of the shining doorknob. He started to hand it to Hook, whose one hand was already holding the hot iron, then passed it to Rupert. The big man smiled through his thick beard and pocketed the key. He refolded his hands.

"You a fencer, Will? Your father was dastardly with a blade."

"Yes, sir, I am." Rupert waved a hand at him.

"No need for formalities here. We're a pirate council today, but who knows who'll be in these seats tomorrow? And beside, our job is actually very easy." Will surveyed the four – one legendary, one ancient, one merry and one glutton. They seemed a fitting council.

Hook spoke up. "William! I do believe the iron is ready. Where shall it be?"

The blacksmith was slightly taken aback. "On my forearm, I think. But isn't there something … I mean, don't I have to – "

"A fine place!" Hook exclaimed, and rose with glowing poker in hand. "Sleeve up, if you please." Will reached unthinkingly for his shirt sleeve and pushed it up past his elbow. Without waiting, Hook slid his hook under Will's arm – Will's wrist fit neatly into its curve – and flipped it over. With his other hand he applied the brand.

Will jumped and cried out, both from the sudden cold of Hook's metal encircling his wrist and from surprise at the pirate's speed. He caught Thrasher's eyeroll but had to grit his teeth as the pain flared suddenly and became steadily sharper. He could hear the sizzle of his own skin, and looked up at Hook. There was a mad light in the man's eyes, and he held the younger man firmly. Seconds later, when the iron was lifted away, the pain did not lessen immediately. Will's eyes were drawn to the wound.

It hurt – oh how it seemed to burn the greater from the weight of his gaze! But it was there; it was done. He, William Turner, was a pirate.

"Excellent work, as usual, Captain," said Rupert. Hook bent in an obliging half-bow before returning the poker to the mantel. He then settled himself in the remaining seat. Will was half-surrounded.

"Now, Mister Turner, do oblige us. Let's see how you well you look the part now. Strike a pose." Will blinked, but the four men waited patiently – though Thrasher cleared his throat – and so he flexed his unburned arm and did his best to glower at them, pirate-like.

"Splendid!" Hook exclaimed. "But you need a pistol, William, a pistol and a sword. Let's see, then!" Feeling more than a little silly, Will unsheathed his sword and plucked Dana's gun from his belt with his branded limb. Hook looked round at the rest of the council. "Does he meet with your approval gents?"

Rupert and Blue both nodded, beaming, and Thrasher huffed something that was not disapproval, so Hook seemed satisfied. "Now," he said, facing Will once more. "There's just one thing left for you to do." He settled himself back against the plush of his chair.

"What's that?"

"Prove yourself a pirate."

Will raised an eyebrow. Hook was watching him expectantly and Blue and Rupert were studying him with no less care. Their smiles were gone. "But – you've already branded me."

"Of course we have," replied Hook. "Now all you've got to do is earn it. Doesn't that make sense?"

"Well what if I … don't?" Hook smiled again, but this time a slight manicalness crept into the way he bore his teeth, similar to the one that had been in his eyes when he pressed the hot metal to the blacksmith's skin.It was not friendly.

Hook stroked his moustache carefully and his hook flashed. "Then you don't leave."

* * *

Author's Note – _I'm back kids! Updates are fresh and smelling great and on their way. Sorry for the hiatus, but that's what happens when you're a **McQuaid Sister! **Hah!_

_Captain J. Hook belongs to J.M. Barrie._

_Rupert belongs to his parents (and I'm sure part of him belongs to the guy who thought up the _Survivor _show: someone please tell me that they recognized this guy)._

_Blue belongs to the writers of _Old School_, who unintentionally invented one of the cutest pirates I've ever seen – _"You're my _boy_, Blue!"


	12. Barton's Blood

Chapter Twelve

Will blinked. The sword in his hand suddenly felt very heavy, and he was sure he could feel the slick of sweat in the opposite hand – the one that clutched Dana Flint's gun. He let his arms drop to his sides, vaguely grateful that neither weapon tumbled from his grasp, and stared at Hook. The polished pirate captain returned the gaze – though his looked seemed to hold more anticipation than reproach – and remained silent. The only sound in the room was the crackle and pop of the little fire in the fireplace. Though he tried to avoid it, the blacksmith could not help but notice the mote of red light that the fire threw into the eye-centres of each of the four men before him. He cleared his throat with an effort.

"Um … what – what did you say?" Will's question hung briefly in the silence.

"Isn't it interesting," sniffed Thrasher after a few moments, "how ordinarily sound men quickly lose their hearing when presented with tasks that call for the least bit of creative energy." He drummed his sausage fingers on the arm of his chair in impatience.

"Wishing to clarify something," responded Hook smoothly, "is a far cry from being unable to comprehend it. The principle of weeding out the pirates from the more docile sheep is a simple one."

Rupert was nodding. "Well it's obvious, isn't it? He just needs a minute t' turn it about in his head." The giant man settled back in his plush chair. He was smiling at Will, but the warmth of the smile did not seem to reach his eyes. Their shine was different. It was expectant.

Hungry.

Will's own stomach continued to slumber, nearly comatose, and in the part of his brain that was immune to terror he recalled that he had not eaten for days. Slowly, as though it had been waiting for permission from his mind, the exhaustion that he had been fighting to keep at bay began to creep closer. He was so tired, so sore, and was rapidly beginning to question how a man was supposed to keep _focused_ under such conditions. He clenched his fist, and when his skin sang from its recent branding, Will raised his arm to examine himself. The brand was an angry red. He grit his teeth when he tightened his fingers around Dana Flint's pistol and the muscles shifted beneath his scorched skin.

Dana Flint. He had passed her when she exited the cave mouth and he entered. "Your turn," she had said. The only words to pass between them had told him nothing of what was to be expected of him. Distantly, he was angry. Why had the gunslinger not mentioned this deadly clause? More important than that, what had she done to emerge unscathed from this room and its ring of judges? How did one prove oneself as a pirate?

"I begin to doubt the tenacity of this young fellow," said Thrasher. "William Turner's son he may be, but it certainly doesn't seem as though he's inherited his father's gall."

"Give him a moment," returned Rupert.

"And exactly how long can I be expected to wait here?" Thrasher demanded shrilly. His high voice seemed absurd issuing from such a rotund source. "Weeks ago, when that miller was branded and then burst into tears, we knew that he was floored immediately!" Will could feel sweat beading on his forehead.

The immense man shifted in his seat and openly regarded the young blacksmith. "No gall at all," he continued, speaking to everyone in the room with the exception of the man whose gaze he held. "But you know what they say – some people are meant to be pirates, and the rest are perfectly content to be led about by the nose." The man heaved a mammoth sigh, and the sound fell barely short of a whine. "If only it didn't take so much bloody time out of one's day to let them make asses of themselves. It would be so much more efficient to dispose of them quickly."

The other men said nothing, and Will grit his teeth in rage instead of pain. He tried to concentrate. What aspects of a pirate could –

"Anyway, there are too many mediocre pirates." Thrasher's nasal voice wedged itself between Will's racing thoughts. "They give the profession a bad name." He narrowed his eyes at Will. "They crowd the water."

_Looting? Cheating? Drinking? _thought Will desperately. Was there something –

"I never had respect for the silent type," continued the gross captain blithely. "It indicates an empty skull."

_Jack! What about Jack? What about – _

The fire crackled.

Thrasher's fingers drummed.

Will's heart hammered.

"If no one else is going to call time, then I will reserve the honor for myself." Captain Thrasher thrust a fat hand inside his elegant jacket. It emerged with a pistol. He cocked the hammer with nonchalance akin to disdain, and Will found himself looking into the gun's dark eye. Captain Hook, Rupert and the ancient Blue remained motionless and silent.

Will felt the battering of his heart in its cage of bone. Without thinking, he raised Dana Flint's pistol to meet Thrasher. The fat man was unfazed, and Will would later remember that it was the man's utter confidence in the new pirate's ineptitude that angered him the most: he did not even given Will the courtesy of blinking when the weapon was leveled at his face.

"Goodbye William Turner," said Thrasher, sounding bored, "If you aren't right for being a pirate, you may yet go to hell. There are other ways."

Will's voice was hoarse. "Wait a minute."

Thrasher did not acknowledge him. "I hope your mother isn't a weeper – though I suppose a pirate husband and son would quickly have dried her of tears."

Patience lost, Will raised his voice to a shout. "Captain Thrasher! Will you let me – " In a tremble of anger, his finger barely stroked the trigger of Dana's pistol.

The gun fired.

The pistol kicked back in his hand, and in his effort not to drop it, Will nearly pulled the trigger a second time. In the second it took for him to blink away the acrid powder-smoke, he realized the gravity of what he had done. Expressionless, the former Captain Thrasher sat with a perfectly round black hole in the middle of his bald forehead. A single wisp of smoke curled over the back of his chair, and Will's vision of the world started to become unfocused.

He had killed a member of the pirate council.

There was stunned silence for a full moment.

And then Blue started to laugh. At first he only wheezed weakly, and the sudden strange sound of it startled Will, who was tense and fully expecting a violent reaction. The old pirate's glee did nothing to reassure him; Will wanted no part of his ancient delirium. Captain James Hook, rogue of the seven seas, rose smoothly from his chair to examine the back of the chair beside him.

"Far from graceful," he said. "But effective enough."

Will's mouth was numb. "The trigger," he managed. "She never mentioned … the hair trigger …"

Amidst Blue's subsiding chuckle-wheezes, Rupert also stood. "Lad," he boomed. "You've killed the infamous Captain Thrasher, a pirate known for his fortitude – if not his charisma." Will silently returned Dana's pistol to his belt. He did not sheath his sword.

Hook came to stand immediately before him. With an effort of the utmost, Will met his gaze, but the man was unreadable: there was no bottom to his eyes. The captain stroked his oiled moustache with his gleaming namesake. "What have you to say for yourself, William Turner, murderer of a high-ranking Pirate Council member?"

Will opened his mouth, but could not reply.

Hook stepped closer. "More importantly, son, _do you regret it_?"

"No," he replied instantly. He clapped his mouth shut, surprised at how quickly he had answered, and how truthfully, but did not change his answer. He dropped his eyes. He was already in over his head – it could not possibly get worse were he to go deeper. "It was an accident – but, no." He set his teeth. "No, I don't regret anything."

"Good pirate." Unbelieving, he looked up again to see that Hook was smiling. When Hook patted him on the back, Will was startled so badly that he nearly speared the pirate with his blade. A glance at Rupert confirmed the same merry expression.

"Aren't … aren't you angry?"

Rupert's heavy laughter filled the little room. "Will – it'll be hell findin' a chair with velvet nice as that, but that's the extent of the trouble you're in, far as I'm concerned." He chuckled through his great beard. "Ol' Thrasher was no friend of mine."

"Nor mine," agreed a still-smiling Hook. "I nearly burst with laughter when he mentioned _crowding the water_ - as though that whale was in any position to make such a statement!" He shook his head, and in doing so became more somber. He spoke gravely. "Understand William, why it is that this deed has confirmed your piracy to us. It is not merely the fact that you shot a man, because a half-witted monkey might have achieved the same. What speaks to us is the fact that you understand the weight of actions without regretting them. You chose – though not voluntarily – and stood fast by your decision." Rupert's face split into another craggy grin.

"You _live _your moments, my boy! And that's the whole bloody _point_ of it!" He flipped Will the key to the door, and the blacksmith caught it without thinking. "I knew it was in you. Birthright, ye could call it – piracy in those very veins."

"I'm a pirate. I'm a pirate?"

"I certainly hope so, lad," Hook agreed. "Get back to those saucy wenches outside, and make your father proud."

Will placed the key in the shining knob and turned it.

"I want to hear that you're havin' _exploits_, Will," added Rupert from behind him. "So help you if I don't! We'll send Blue to fetch your hide!" His chuckles rose from deep in his chest, and the blacksmith paused, finding it hard to believe that there was now such joviality in the room he was leaving. Moments before, the air had been tense to the point of blackness. The ancient pirate Blue erupted into his own bout of breathy laughter, but something in Rupert's comment made Will turn back from the open door.

"Captain Hook?"

"Yes, my boy?" The pirate captain was busy reexamining the back of the late Thrasher's chair with apparent distaste. "Oh – if you're wondering about that brand, just do your best to keep it out of the sun and heat for a day or two. A wrapped cloth should do well enough to prevent the salt angering it."

"No,sir. There's something else that I'd like to know. Had … had I not 'proven' myself a pirate … what would have happened to me?"

Rupert and Blue fell silent as Captain Hook straightened slowly. He tapped the gleaming metal of his hand against the back of Thrasher's chair, almost absentmindedly. Again, the unfathomable depths of his eyes captured those of Will.

"I think you already know the answer to that question, lad," he replied. He nodded towards Thrasher's corpse. "You let this fellow pass on easily, but your own fate would have been executed – "

" – less gentlemanly," finished Rupert heavily. "We're all of us glad that it didn't have t' come t' that."

"Less gentlemanly, indeed," Will agreed faintly as, with silent glee, Blue's wizened face split into a gap-toothed grin. The old man drew one gnarled finger in a line across his neck, and Will was suddenly certain that he would not want the pirate Blue on the hunt for his hide at all.

xXx

Will emerged into a jungle shrouded by night. He was not surprised – time inside the cave with the Pirate Council had seemed to stop entirely, and his walk back through the tunnel had passed in a sort of unbelieving haze. It was only when the cool evening breeze of _La Isla de Sueños_ touched his face at the cave mouth that he really blinked and realized that he had not yet sheathed his sword. As he slid it smoothly into its place, he flexed the muscles under his branded skin experimentally. The pain had quieted and was content to throb instead of shriek. Will hardly felt anything.

_Pirate_.

He smiled to himself and raised his face to the jeweled black sky. The eddies of breeze became a bold wind, cooling the sweat on his chest and brow, and tugged strands of dark hair free form his ponytail. He was happier – more satisfied – than he could remember being in a long time. He was aware that the happiness was not due solely to the new scar that he bore, but he knew that he had taken a step towards something (_anything!_ cried a voice at the back of his mind), and so he felt lighter: the scope of his life had changed, had _grown_, and was now, well, the size of the very ocean.

He strode confidently into the underbrush, unafraid of becoming lost amongst the trees. Now that he had discovered the cavern that contained the pirate council in the centre of the little jungle, any way would eventually lead him out. He knew that when the trees eventually thinned, he would set foot on the fine white sand of the beach. It took him no time to emerge.

On the shore, out of the reach of the evening tide, were Dana Flint and Captain Melanie Cash. They were both leaning against the boat in deep conversation, as a rag-torch on a pole burned behind them and cast deep shadows across their features. They looked up as Will approached, and he sincerely hoped that he did not look as haggard as he suddenly felt. He wanted to eat something. He wanted to sleep in his cabin aboard the _Dart_. He wanted to –

"Drink, mate! These pirates want to drink! " cried Melanie when he came to meet them. Her smile was huge, if vaguely feral in the torchlight, and Will could not help but begin to smile as well. The pirate captain offered him an opaque bottle. "I won't take no for an answer," Melanie said. "A drink has got to be one of your first acts in this new life. Up-end it, ye bandit!"

Will took a swallow from the bottle, nearly caught off-guard by its potency. He turned his cough into a laugh. "Thank you, I think."

Dana was smiling, too. "You'll thank her more when it weighs anchor in your head," she chuckled. "If there is nothing else to be said about the good and generous Captain Cash, she certainly keeps a fine stock – even on obscure expeditions." Melanie snorted.

"Oh, there's _much_ more to be said about the good and generous Captain Cash," she replied, "but at the moment I am more interested in my newly acquired pirate comrade, William Turner. Let's see it!"

"What?"

Both women rolled their eyes. "Your _brand_, Will! Let's have a look."

Will extended his arm into the torch light so that both pirate captain and pirate gunslinger could see his scar. It had become slightly raised, but the light was too poor to determine if the color had become less angry. Will still felt slightly dazed – _or crazed_, interjected the voice in his mind – and so it was that Melanie had to ask him twice about what had occurred before the Pirate Council.

"What do you mean, what did I do?"

"I mean, how did you earn that brand?" Melanie leaned back against the boat, bottle in hand. The evening wind whipped the hair about her shoulders and occasionally obscured her face. "Tell us what you did." Will struggled for a moment to decide what he should tell them. He fidgeted, and his hand touched the pistol that was tucked in his belt almost automatically.

The gunslinger nodded towards it. "Do you think I could have that back? I feel a little unbalanced without it." She was smiling at her friend, but her expression changed the moment Will released the borrowed pistol into her hand.

"What happened?" she asked immediately.

"What do you mean what happ –"

"Why did you fire it?"

Melanie raised her eyebrows. "How could you know that?" The gun was holstered with a flick of the gunslinger's wrist. She was looking hard at Will.

"It's lighter."

Will did not respond at once, and his continued hesitation did not go unnoticed. "What exactly happened in there?" Both women were staring at him, but the blacksmith could not tell whether they were intensely concerned or nearly furious. In the unsteady light thrown out from the torch in the boat, the shadows over their eyes made the latter seem more plausible. Even after the swig of bitter ale, Will's mouth felt completely dry. He swallowed.

"I shot Captain Thrasher."

"You _WHAT_!" Melanie was suddenly on her feet.

"I … I killed Captain Thrasher."

Dana was staring at him, immobile and incredulous, but Melanie seized him by the shoulders. He opened his mouth to remind her of the fresh wound on his arm, but his warning died on his lips, burned to ash by her blazing eyes.

"YOU KILLED A PIRATE COUNCIL MEMBER?" She shook him once, hard. "ARE YOU INSANE?"

Rattled, Will tried his best to respond. "They really didn't seem to mind." He glanced at Dana, but the horror still lingered on her face. Her mouth was an open O. "No once else seemed to mind! Honestly!"

Melanie released him, and pressed a palm to her forehead instead. "I can't believe it," she moaned. "To think that I brought you here as an innocent young man, untainted by the world of blood and seasalt. Poor, innocent William!"

"Now wait a minute. I was never-"

"No! No, you were!" cried Melanie. "You were good and pure and dashing and brave, and now …"

"Now what?"

"Now you're a monster! A reckless killing machine with no regard for the consequences of your actions!"

Will frowned. "No I'm not! I haven't changed at all! And what was I supposed to do, hmm? Thrasher was going to kill me!"

Melanie looked at him, unbelieving. "There are a million things that you could have done to prove yourself a pirate, and then he wouldn't have had a need to kill you at all!"

"Oh, please! As if it were so easy! What did you do, Dana, hmm? Captain Hook said that they needed to step out after your little act - were they hauling away a body? I certainly didn't see one!"

The gunslinger threw up her hands. "I told them a bloody _story_, Will!"

"You told them a story?"

"YES! I'm an excellent storyteller! I told them a story, and they lived through it! I told them a tale! Pirates can be storytellers, and I didn't need to _kill_ anyone! For all I know they went to the _bathroom_ after the story that I told them!"

Will colored, and his legs felt weak. He put a hand on the boat to steady himself. "But it was … it was an accident." He looked up at Melanie, who was still shaking her head.

"I've created a monster."

"You have not!"

"Yes I have. Look at you – wild hair; frantic eyes; unsteady hand. I'm sure that you're just anxious to kill again."

Will was quickly becoming exasperated. "Melanie! _No one cared_! They told me that Thrasher was no friend of theirs and that it didn't matter anyway. And it proved me a pirate, didn't it?" She eyed him, shrewdly.

"They really didn't mind?"

He shook his head. "No – they were surprised, but so was I! They said the lesson was proving that I could live with the consequences of an action, accidental or not."

Dana sounded doubtful. "None of that changes the fact that you killed some important guy." Will gestured helplessly.

"I know that. But that's what happened. The Council is all right with it, so I am, too."

"Well," Melanie said at last, "if no one else made a big deal about it, I suppose it would be wrong of us to desert you on this island." She smiled half-heartedly. "Besides, it's not as though I've never killed a man. But a Council Member!" She whistled, and turned to move the boat into the lapping tide.

Will had a sudden thought. "Do you think that Jack would be upset?"

"No," Melanie sighed as she started to shove the boat into the water. "I know exactly what he's going to say."

"What?"

"He's going to laugh his fool head off, and then he's going to announce -"

xXx

"Drinks all around!" Jack cried with a grand sweep of his arm. Not one but two _Cliffs of Insanity_ serving girls skittered away at his command. It had been quickly established that Captain Jack Sparrow was in a celebratory mood, and one that was uncharacteristically generous. He had been purchasing drinks for the crew of the Yellow Dart all evening. Only Carly and Matthew were absent, as they had opted to remain on the ship in order to slap away hands that might creep up on it during the unruly evening. When Melanie, Dana and Will had returned that afternoon, Jack had wasted no time in bundling the lot of them off to the Tortugan hostel. He had refused to hear tell of their brandings until they were all seated with an ale in hand, and as predicted, he had found Will's story about the end of Captain Thrasher fantastically hilarious.

"I want to make it clear," he said as he settled back into his seat at the table, "that is _not_ a run-of-the-mill excuse for a drunken adventure. No indeed, for those will come. This is a celebration! To me pirates!"

He raised his mug, and it was met with several others, as well as a hearty chorus of "Pirates, all!" He drank deeply, and surveyed his tournament team over the rim of his cup.

Captain Cash, a proper lush, was already loose-limbed and free of spirit: she would burst into riotous laughter at the slightest provocation; Dana was drinking steadily, but without the singular purpose of her female counterpart. She had readily understood the need for Melanie and Will and douse themselves in ale – after all, the last time she had been drunk was after participating in (and losing) a direct competition with Jack Sparrow himself. She was still reeling.

Indeed, instead of a congratulatory bottle of wine, Jack had presented her with a different gift earlier in the evening. When Jack had bestowed the – outrageously potent – bottles of wine upon Will and Melanie, Dana had frowned. "I thought that this was my celebration, too."

"I thought of that," Jack had said quickly. "And I've got just the thing." He had risen from the table and disappeared into the throng surrounding the bar proper. When he returned, he'd set a plate in front of the gunslinger with a flourish.

"For you, darling! Congratulations!"

On the plate had been a cake, and on the cake was a sparkler.

While the sparks from the candle glittered and fell merrily, and while Melanie and Dana exploded with laughter, Will was confused. "What _is_ that?" he asked. Jack had raised his eyebrows.

"Clearly you've never been to Singapore."

Jack's eyes sought the last of his teammates amongst the teeming mass of bodies in the tavern. With enough drink, Will had become a proper social butterfly, chattering merrily – if nonsensically – with nearly every patron in the tavern, and was currently playing the fiddle in the little band on stage. To be perfectly honest, however, there wasn't really such a thing as a band in Tortuga: one person ordinarily began to play an instrument in a central space in a tavern, and others would join in as the passion took them. If their melodies complimented one another, that much the better, and if not, it was only a matter of time before the music was drowned in the battle-cries of the inebriated, anyway.

Amidst a painfully caterwauling fiddle, Jack smiled at his two female friends. "What do you think? Is this not a proper send-off for the fabled Quatripirate Tournament?"

Melanie nodded, but Dana had raised her eyebrows. "I shudder to think," she replied, "how many of our competitors are lurking about tonight, just waiting for us to expire noisily from a burst liver."

"Or from a drowned brain," Melanie added. She drained her current bottle and tossed it over her shoulder happily. "Poor thing never stood a chance." She hiccupped, oblivious to the bottle breaking over the unfortunate head of a nearby patron, and reached for another.

As she struggled with the cork in the new bottle, a young man emerged from the mass of stomping, dancing Tortugans. He was tall and slender, and his shaggy dark hair nearly obscured his brilliant green eyes. Unruly hair or not, he was clearly intent on Melanie, and came to stand beside her chair. "How is it that such a beautiful lady isn't dancing?" he asked. Melanie looked up at him, and smiled, pleased.

"Oh, I can dance," she replied. "But this style is a bit too … vertical for my taste." She winked slyly, and the handsome youth grinned in return. She offered her hand. "What's your name, stranger?"

"Barton," he replied, kissing the offered hand. "And you have to dance with me."

Melanie said nothing for a moment, seeming to scrutinize him to the best of her intoxicated ability. Jack and Dana looked on, amused. After a time, Melanie said, "I'll join you in just a moment. I'll finish the bottle first."

"Whatever you wish," Barton replied. He placed one hand on the back of Melanie's chair, and bent low to speak against her ear. "But I'll be waiting."

When he had straightened and made to walk away, Jack cleared his throat. "Oi! Young Barton!"

The man turned. "Yes?"

Faster than Melanie's hazy vision could follow, Jack seized his pistol from Dana's hip holster and fired. The crack of the shot resounded sharply off of the pub walls, and the man crumpled to the floor before his surprise could reach his face. The mistress of the _Dart_ blinked, and turned slightly to look over her shoulder.

Dana elbowed Jack. "Don't touch my stuff." He replaced the pistol on the table in front of her.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

When Melanie turned back to the table, her red-rimmed eyes were narrowed with bleary anger. "Now why'd you go and do that?" she demanded.

"Yonder handsome lad had dipped his hand into my fair captain's pocket," Jack explained patiently. Dana glanced at the cooling corpse, and noted the coins that had spilled from his curled fingers. His playful expression gone, Jack shook his head slowly. "It would not do to allow the purse of the nearly-most-notorious pirate thief to be lightened, and particularly not so close to such an important tournament."

Melanie rolled her eyes and swiped her ale off the table. "Do you not think that whatever he lifted from my purse would have been worth his company in my bed?" She drained the remainder of the bottle. "Idiot. He and I might have _both_ carried away a prize tonight."

xXx

The following morning, the dawn crept over the port-town with a practiced ease. The ocean breeze stirred ripples over the water, and the sun flared in a cerulean sky amidst white clouds. The gulls called to one another across the harbor and dipped into water and cargo-holds alike. Their cries were matched by the voices of Tortuga's valiant morning vendors: fervent announcements of headache remedies and breakfast ales peppered the air.

Captain Cash would have called the morning perfectly picturesque had she been awake to take in its grandeur. As it happened, it was only a single finger of sunlight that managed to part the curtains of her cabin and tap her on the eyelid.

She cursed at it, and rolled onto her other side.

The morning was unfair. It was overly bright and full of noises made by people who had secured themselves a reasonable amount of sleep and it was weighted with the knowledge of everything she had to attempt to accomplish that day and it was especially, and most unforgiveably, _bright_. Her head was already pounding and she hadn't so much as opened her eyes. She knew the scene that would greet her as soon as she emerged from her cabin and bed: the deck of _The Yellow Dart_ would be a flurry of activity, and though none of it would require any direct direction from her – at least not yet – it would only be a matter of time before she was called upon to act the part of a conscious human being.

Unfair.

On her side, she gingerly rolled her tongue about in her mouth. Behind her teeth, her mouth tasted of bitter ale, something for which she was only game after sweeter drink had completely overthrown her palate. There was another taste as well, something more musky and difficult to place, as though she had sampled it – or something akin to it – only rarely. Was that … licorice? What exactly had she been drinking?

Her thoughts were interrupted with the squeal of metal hinges. Her cabin door had opened and closed. As Melanie listened, bare feet padded across the wooden floor and towards her. When a body settled itself onto the other side of her bed, she reluctantly cracked open her eyes. She did not, however, really need to look.

"Tell me we didn't."

"Hmm?"

"Jack – we didn't … did we?" With an effort, Melanie twisted about to face Jack Sparrow. He was lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. He was without his hat, and his thin, white undershirt was unbuttoned at the neck, but all in all he seemed reasonably clothed, as was she. He only smiled.

Melanie made a frustrated sound and flopped onto her back. Silent still, Jack placed a feather-light hand on her throat. His fingertips traced lightly along her collarbone until it met the centre of her chest. He tilted his head to the side slightly, and Melanie could hear the muted chorus of his hair-trinkets. She steeled herself against the shiver that threatened to run along her composed figure, but when his brown fingers wandered down the front of her blouse, leaving buttons separated from shirt-holes in their wake, she started to smile. They were a thief's fingers, as were her own: agile and shameless. When he had finished, he opened her shirt wide to expose her tanned stomach and the wound cloth that served as a brassiere.

She felt no embarrassment under the weight of his eyes. On the contrary, it was all she could do to stop herself from squirming: despite his heavy cloak of eccentricity, Jack Sparrow was nothing if not enthralling, and more so at such a close proximity. He passed his open palm over her stomach, and leaned his face slightly over her own. Involuntarily, Melanie's face tilted upwards to meet his. She drank in Jack's russet eyes for only a moment before their edges crinkled.

He was smiling.

Suddenly, Melanie's stomach was shot through with cold. Her muscles jerked and she gasped. She glanced down, and as Jack withdrew his hand, she saw that he had deposited three coins on her bare belly. She began to frown, then remembered: they were the coins the man Barton had momentarily stolen the night before.

Jack sat up. "I thought I would return what belonged to you."

Melanie scooped the three coins into her hand and shook them against one another. They tinkled musically. "Why bother? This isn't much – I doubt you could have bought breakfast with this amount."

"That's not the point."

She turned to face him. "Then what is the point, you colossal tease?" Jack smiled slightly again. He reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind Melanie's ear.

"I need you –"

"Oh. Well, Jack, that was so many years ago, but -"

" – to be at the top of your game," he finished. He withdrew his hand and stood. Melanie's face fell.

"I already knew that."

"I don't think that you do, love." He stretched, and turned his back to her. He parted the curtains enough to look out onto the water. "It's almost time to begin."

Offended by the sudden sunlight, Melanie hid her face with a pillow. She sighed, though it came out sounding like a wheeze. "Why are you in my room, Jack?"

"A bloody crow's moved into mine."

"Well it's clear, then. The more quickly we're off, the better we'll all be."

Melanie stayed under her pillow while Jack lingered at the window. When he had left her cabin and shut the door behind him, she emerged from hiding and turned her back to the light. She marveled at how seriously Jack was taking the Tournament, and absent-mindedly fiddled with the coins. She had never seen him so devoted to something. Was there a side to him that she had not glimpsed before?

The coins had been jingling freely against one another in her hand. Suddenly, two of them seemed to stick to one another. When she closed her fist around them, they felt slightly tacky under her fingers. She raised them to her eyelevel to examine them more closely: maroon blood, incompletely dried, coated one face of a coin completely.

Barton's blood.

_Oh yes, there is a new side to Jack_, Melanie decided, squeezing the coins. _And time will tell just how dangerous that side really is._


	13. A Final Wine and Cheese

Chapter Thirteen

"I order you not to be mad at me."

"But –"

"I _order_ you not to be mad at me." Cash stood with her arms crossed and her back to the spray that leapt over the railing of her ship. The bright morning was glaringly hot and windy, and gull shrieks thickened the sky above the crowded bay. Assembled on the deck of the _Yellow Dart_ was the whole of Captain Melanie Cash's crew - their hair whipped about their somber, serious faces, and their clothing rippled in the wind. They were silent and watchful, not necessarily because their captain was in the midst of addressing their two newest comrades, but because of what they knew would follow. Thus, more accurately, they were making themselves comfortable.

Between the assembled crew and the captain herself stood the two ragged figures. They were exposed and barefoot: neither had on more than a worn pair of short pants and a thin, castoff white shirt. There were dark circles under their eyes, as both had been up until all hours assisting crew members with repair of old war wounds on the wood of the _Dart's_ hull. Upon the bell for all hands, their breakfasts had been bolted, and were now resting uneasily in their stomachs. In another life, William Turner and Dana Flint would rarely have looked so nervous. But for the moment, they were no more than two green scallywags. Flint spoke again.

"We're not angry with you – yet. Right now I just don't understand how it's _possible_."

Cash raised an eyebrow. "There is not a member of my crew that takes less than two minutes to reach the top."

"Is there a member of your crew that can fire a hole through the center of the ace of diamonds from the same distance?" Flint returned.

Will ventured a word. "But we aren't – technically speaking – members of your crew. I'm a blacksmith. Dana is a gunsmith."

"To my understanding, _Mister_ Turner and _Mister_ Flint are sailors on my vessel," Cash replied smartly. "We are meant to reach a particular destination in a particular amount of time. That is to say, we are meant to reach a particular destination in _no_ time, and I will need all the hands that I can get." She held their eyes in a steely gaze for a moment more before taking a step towards them and speaking more softly. "In any other circumstance, I would agree with you," she said. "You're allies. But the fact remains that when we reach port it will be into the thick of a competition for pirates, for seasoned sailors. I don't know what challenges that will entail, but frankly…" she shrugged. "Frankly, I don't see the harm in preparation and practice."

Captain Melanie Cash's idea of preparation and practice was nothing less than for Flint and Will to repair recent wear and tear to the main royal, the fifth and topmost of the five sails attached to the _Yellow Dart's_ towering mainmast. There were two ways to reach the main royal as it filled and snapped one hundred and thirty feet above their heads, though neither was particularly pleasant. The first, and least reasonable, would be to shimmy up the mast itself. The second route would be to climb the shrouds, the loose lattice of rope that attached to the mast at regular intervals. It was this route which Flint and Will were closely scrutinizing.

Flint, who was at the moment particularly missing the low, protective brim of her hat, shielded her eyes to peer up into the billowing sails above her head. "I think this is going a bit far."

"Perhaps it's not going far enough," came Jack's voice. Heads swiveled. Jack was sauntering over the deck from the direction of the forecastle. Upon hearing his voice, Cash had rolled her eyes heavenward: Jack was methodically eating his way through a pile of thin cheese slices separated by wax paper. He stopped beside her. Mouth full, he continued with surprising clarity. "They'll expect nothing less than seasoned sailors, that much is correct. But seasoned _pirates_ may be more accurate yet." He studied them. "Tuck in your shirts, mates, at the very least!"

Cash chuckled while Will and Flint fiddled with their clothing obligingly, but Jack did not smile. He chewed slowly and watched them carefully until they were finished, then nodded curtly. "Right. But you're still missing one important thing."

"That's right," Cash said. "I nearly forgot." She reached into her coat and then presented Will with a slightly ragged red patch of canvas, and Flint with blue. "I don't ordinarily like to be so obscenely colourful," she admitted, "but this way it will make it easier to see from the deck that you have indeed completed your task." From a pocket she produced a fat, sturdy needle, and a small ball of fine rope. "You'll have to share." Flint pocketed the ball and needle.

"Wonderful," said Jack. "But not at all what I meant." From the stack of cheese he carried, he began to peel away a number of slices. "Beautiful day," he commented while separating the cheese. "Very lovely. Little in the manner of waves, though the wind is impressive enough." He squinted at the sky. "Yes, perfectly lovely. Perfect gull weather."

Realization dawned on three faces at the same time, but it was Cash who broke into a howl of laughter. "You wouldn't!"

Jack remained serious. "Wouldn't I? How many _serene_ climbs have you made up into the rigging, Cash? Precious few. There are few waves to roll us today, but that doesn't mean there shouldn't be … distractions." He approached Flint first, who made no move to stop him from tucking the slices of cheese at intervals around her waist.

She wrinkled her nose. "Suppose these all fall out due to the wind?" Jack shrugged.

"Then we might have to suppose that the fearsome Dana Flint fears friendly attention from birdkind." Flint grit her teeth. Jack moved on to Will.

Will coughed. "These smell terrible."

Jack popped the last piece into his mouth, then straightened up to view his handiwork. "They certainly do," he said around the cheese. "If they didn't, I'd of found something else." Overhead, the gulls dove and shrieked, and the sun sizzled.

The distance from deck to top sail, seemingly impossible, shimmered and danced in the heat. Flint and Will were certain that the stench of the cheese was doing something similar to the air around them, and they both swallowed thickly. They glanced at one another.

"Ready?" Will asked weakly.

"If I'm not now, I'll never be," Flint replied with a grimace, and the pair swung themselves up onto the shrouds.

Captain Cash and Jack watched them ascend from the deck, both shielding their eyes from the sun. "That really wasn't fair," Cash murmured, as the first shrieks of delighted gulls reached them. Jack only continued to smile,

It was twenty minutes before a bruised Dana Flint and a bedraggled William Turner dropped down onto the deck. Both of them looked severely windblown and more than slightly crazed: the bare skin on their arms was covered in little red bite marks, and sweat poured off of their brows. Flint spat out the long needle that she had been gripping between her teeth.

"Well done!" said Cash brightly. "Well done indeed! That didn't take you _nearly_ as long as I thought it would! And neither do any of your bones appear to be broken!" Flint and Will glared. "Well, maybe your _happy_ bones, but we can work on those. How are you feeling?"

"Sore," said Will.

"That's alright! Those muscles of yours will soon be whipped into shape. Now that you've had the pleasure of making the trip once, you've earned the right to do it twenty times a day! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Simply corking," Flint muttered.

"Although frankly, I must say, that neither you nor Mister Turner smell particularly pleasant," interjected Jack. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'd wash up a bit if I were you. S'just considerate, isn't it?"

* * *

Later that day, as the morning yawned and stretched and shuffled into afternoon, Captain Melanie Cash sat in her quarters. But she wasn't alone. She was with her coffee. Captain Melanie Cash adored coffee. She absolutely loved it. She wasn't whole without it, and her day could never properly begin. Regardless of day, locale or situation, the crew of the _Yellow Dart_ knew that it was in their best interest to ensure that Captain Cash's palm was weighted with her morning mug. There had been only precious few occasions where this daily ritual had been overlooked, but they had been memorable. And violent. And rather messy. 

In the _Dart's_ captain's quarters, Cash's sprawling maps and charts and carefully corrected (re: altered) trade documents tended towards heap-ness on her vast wooden desk. It was here that she sat this early afternoon, leisurely stirring sugar into her mug. Despite her deep affection for coffee, Captain Cash's teeth were very white. Instead of a thing unseemly in a pirate, her flashing smile often lent her a predatory air. Her maps and charts, however, were brown-speckled and frequently coffee-ringed, which was the way that she preferred them – personally stamped, as it were.

She dripped a small portion of cream into her mug and watched idly as the milky cloud billowed and twisted beneath the coffee's surface. A headache had been prickling at the edges of her vision all morning. She didn't want to attribute it to the stresses of the looming Quaitripirate Tournament which was due to begin with their departure the following dawn: they were well provisioned, and well prepared. Flint and Turner might complain, but they would perform, she had no doubt. And there was no question of Jack's desire for victory, nor of her own. So too was she was drinking coffee, and the headache could not be due to its lack, which was a painful trial common enough to those who attempted to match her singular dedication to drinking it.

Cash sipped gingerly, and the dark flavour of fire-roasted beans mingled with the sharpness of sugar on her tongue. Yes indeed, they were well provisioned. The regular lad who delivered their groceries in Tortuga – the "lad" being a lithe and deeply tanned young sailor with penetrating eyes and powerful hands – had brought the _Dart's_ boxes and barrels of stores a few days prior. Cash smiled at the thought. His skin may have been cocoa-coloured, but after rigorous and regular sampling, the unfortunate truth was that the young man's cargo was far sweeter. Oh well.

No, there was only one place from which this encroaching head pain could spring, one thing she had been missing, one flavour absent in her life that ordinarily lent colour to all the others: there was one thirst that was beginning to rake the back of her throat with iron claws in its demand to be quenched.

Red wine.

If there was one thing that Captain Melanie Cash adored more than coffee, it was red wine. To be reclining in a chair, with a half full glass (bottle) of red wine between her fingers was for Cash to be well pleased with the world. Sitting now in her cabin, fingers curled around her steaming mug, Cash couldn't recall the last time she'd tasted a really satisfying red wine. She frowned. It seemed positively sacrilegious to embark on a challenge as epic as the Quatripirate Tournament without some sort of pre-celebratory bottle. Never mind that only a short time prior they had all been celebrating at the _Cliffs of Insanity_ and with a great deal of merry drink – despite the unfortunate passing of one young Barton – because there was just something irreplaceable about rolling a bittersweet red about on one's tongue and feeling flushed with its particular warmth.

Cash sipped her coffee again. Yes, a good bottle of red wine was certainly in order. Now, we must here be careful to qualify this desire of Captain Melanie Cash, particularly because upon first glance it might appear that her sudden and vehement desire for red wine indicates that her larders are not full. On the contrary, Cash's store of drink brimmed impressively. Equally impressive was the fact that it was never necessary to lock her larder. Her stores of bottles were filled even before provisions were dealt with for Rowena the cook's kitchen, but this was not a point of contention among the crew. Captain Cash was generous with the majority of her store, and an unspoken rule amongst sailors and pirates alike acknowledged that if a man or woman were mad enough to want to take the reins of a salt-ravaged crew for months on end at sea, then that captain certainly deserved a little saucing every now and again. It helped them to sway with the ship.

No, Cash had more than enough wine to go around ordinarily. Instead, what her palate yearned for was something a little more special, something that she did not have immediately on hand. The more she thought about it, the more apparent it became: it was a specific wine that Cash wanted, one that she had tasted only once before. The lips of a lush, however, never forget.

The wine in question was a French wine, one _Chateau Latour Grand Cru Classe Pauillac_. Another young man that she had romanced years ago had been employed in the house of the governor and governess of Tortuga – themselves a vastly rich if notoriously elusive pair who owned property far inland from the bustling Tortugan coastline. In a fit of passion that cost him his position – and later earned him a place on the gallows – the handsome young chauffeur had stolen the nearly priceless bottle for her, and she had fallen instantly and desperately in love. With the wine. It was now that flavour that she could not shake from her senses, that warm red marriage of spicy and sweet. Her mouth watered. Cash glanced outside. The sun blazed high. There was plenty of time left in the day, and they would not depart until the following dawn. The captain made up her mind, and snatched her hat from its peg as she swept out of her cabin. She would have her wine, and she would have it in time. All she needed was a little help.

* * *

Captain Cash crept quietly into the crew's quarters. She ducked empty and swaying hammocks, and soon came upon two freshly washed and snoring heaps. Sleeping soundly in hammocks hung opposite one another were Flint and Will. They had descended from the shrouds not an hour before, and Cash was not looking forward to waking and garnering the help of an assistant. Nevertheless, she poked Flint with a finger. 

The young woman was sleeping with her hat over her face, and weakly batted the annoyance away. An insistent Cash then jabbed her in the side.

"Ouch!" The irate gunslinger plucked her hat from her face. Her eyes were bleary and red. "What is it now?"

Cash only smiled. "I need your help." Flint groaned and closed her eyes again.

"What is it this time? Floss the figurehead? Tile the messhall? Sift the gunpowder?"

"Those are all very good ideas, and you can certainly get started tomorrow, but not exactly what I had in mind. Get up and I'll show you."

A grumpy and protesting Flint followed Cash up onto the deck. She rubbed her eyes in the obscenely bright light, and yawned. "Alright, cap'n. What's this about?"

"You like red wine, don't you Flint?"

Flint sighed and hopped up on the railing. "If by wine, you mean sleep, and by like, you mean demand, then yes. Yes I certainly do."

Cash rolled her eyes. "I know for a fact that you do. How could you not?" Flint relented, and spread her hands.

"Okay, you've got me. I would have to be an ignorant boob not to appreciate a good wine. I might drink it out of the bottle instead of a fluted crystal glass, but the appreciation knows no bounds." She shrugged. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I'm something of a red wine connoisseur myself, and there's a particular bottle that I want us to go and get before we leave tomorrow morning."

"Alright. Then why don't you go and get it?"

Cash leaned her back against the railing beside Flint and crossed her arms. "It's a little complicated. It isn't exactly local."

"How distant a venture are we talking about?"

"Inland. A bit, anyway. Nothing ridiculous." She looked up and studied the sky. "Not so far away that we wouldn't be back before dawn, say."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if we stop talking about it and get going, then I'll be certain."

Flint hopped down off of the railing by way of agreement, and allowed Cash to lead her into small storage hold below her cabin. "You realize that if we get off to a late start on the Quatripirate Tournament because of a bottle of wine -"

"- that it will be the greatest bottle of wine we've ever tasted? Yes, I've thought long and hard about that, Flint."

Cash swung open a closet inside. It was full to bursting with all manner of clothing, but what the captain wanted was concealed back in its very depths. With an effort, she extracted two flowing dresses and a pair of corsets. When the appropriate clothing was thrust into her hands, Flint raised an eyebrow.

"Um."

"What's wrong? We're just dressing up a little bit. You don't think we could go traipsing about in the governor's house looking like we do now?"

"The governor's house?" She glanced down at the rose-coloured folds and frills and wrinkled her nose. "Well, if it's worth it in the end .."

"Oh it will be. It will be. Just get dressed in those. And don't forget your parasol."

* * *

When the coach had rattled away down the road, Flint and Cash brushed the travel-dust off of their dresses and properly regarded the house before them. The pair stood beneath an archway of vast and meticulously manicured green hedges, and some distance ahead, a huge home sprawled in red and creamy white. There were several balconies, and a large patio with umbrellas. It appeared they had arrived at the end of lunch, as there were a few people gathered at the patio's single large table. As one man detached himself from standing at the fringe of the little group and hurried to greet them, Flint spoke out of the corner of her mouth. 

"I sincerely hope that you've something planned past this point," she muttered.

Cash smiled winsomely at the young valet who approached. The gloves that he was wearing were very white. "I beg your pardon, madams," he said, slightly out of breath. "The lord and lady were not aware that you would be arriving so early. Please follow me." He turned to hurry away again, and Flint glanced at Cash incredulously. _Good timing_? she mouthed with a shrug, and both women lifted their skirts to follow.

Seated at the table was an elderly couple dressed in afternoon finery, evidently the governor and governess of the island, and a profusely sweating and rotund bearded man that could only have been their son. "Ah! There they are!" exclaimed the governor. "Perhaps we're running a bit late here, but at least you've arrived."

"Yes, yes they're simply lovely," crooned the old woman. The eyes of the rather large young man seemed to bug out of his head, and Flint caught a glimmer of sunlight reflecting off of what could only have been a trail of saliva at the side of his mouth. He pawed it away, but his eyes never strayed from the pair. He licked his lips and waggled his eyebrows. Flint rolled her eyes.

"You're so good to come all this way," said the governess, reaching up to pat Cash's gloved hand. "It's been so hard finding Edmund a proper wife you see."

"Yes, yes," agreed the governor. "There isn't a lady about that remains in his company for more that a few hours. What a picky young man we've got on our hands. I wonder why that is?" The ladies in question glanced over their shoulders, and saw that Edmund's eyes were fixed resolutely on Cash's backside. Flint's trigger fingers itched.

"If you wouldn't mind," Cash began dulcetly, impressing even Flint with her fawning delicacy, "could we take our meeting inside? The sun is awfully fierce."

"Of course! Of course!" said the governor. "A delicate pair of flowers like yourselves. Come in! Come in!" Cash smiled graciously and allowed their host to lead them inside, leaving the valet to clean up what remained of lunch. When she fanned a hand in front of her face, Flint had to bite her polished lip to keep from laughing.

"Delicate indeed," she agreed under her breath.

The interior of the house was a grand testament to the rampant frequency of bad taste amongst those with spare money. Taxidermy, oriental artifacts, and posh artworks all jostled against one another for space on the walls. The gleaming floors were tiled in green and amber. "Outrageous," whispered Flint.

"What's that? Yes indeed, yes indeed, we've spared no expense. It is lovely, isn't it?"

The group stood in the large foyer, feigning interest in the décor. Flint's corset was starting to bother her, and she began to fidget. She hoped that Cash knew what she was looking for, and to be sure, the eyes of the captain of the _Yellow Dart_ were traveling about the imposing room with speedy greed. Flint tried to take a deep breath, found herself severely hampered by her garments, and decided to hurry things along.

"Might we trouble you for a pitcher of water?" she asked.

"Of course my dears, of course. We'll be right back, won't we? And we can leave you to be acquainted." The governor gazed with adoration at his monstrous son before he and his wife moved away down one of the corridors. Cash took the opportunity to follow them quietly, leaving Flint alone in the foyer with a large and evidently amorous beast of a man.

Letting the governor and governess to continue on to the kitchen, Cash tucked her parasol under her arm and tried the knobs of the doors that lined the hallway. All but a few were locked, and the rooms she did open were filled with covered furniture. She heard the couple puttering in the vast kitchen, and slipped into an alcove beside it. There was a door with steps leading down into darkness. The wine cellar.

By the time Cash triumphantly emerged with her prize from the cellar a moment later, two things had happened. The first was that governor and wife had returned to the foyer with a laden beverage tray. The second was that the tray had been dropped amidst the horrified shrieks of said governor and governess upon their discovery that far from chatting amicably with his charming and potential new wife – and _without_ his hands on her backside or down her frontside, as was too frequently the case – their son was, instead, face down in a spreading pool of his own blood, and the charming and potential new wife was blithely wiping her dagger clean with a corner of her pink skirt.

Cash entered the foyer and sighed. "This bottle is going to be more expensive than I thought."

* * *

Later, after the governor and governess had been bound and gagged and their handsome valet handsomely paid to take them home and forget their faces, Flint and Cash strolled up the gangplank of the _Yellow Dart_ and felt very pleased with themselves. Although it was now very late into the night – the governor and governess had not been exactly cooperative in allowing Flint to bind them and rummage through their purses, and the young valet had not exactly been paid in coins – their joy with having successfully returned with the object of their desire buoyed them immensely. It was the greatest Tournament start that either of them could have asked for. 

They left their precious bottle in the captain's quarters and went below deck to strip off their aristocratic costumes. "You know," said Cash, as she pulled her customary white tunic back on over her head, "you performed really well back there. Well, you know what I mean, not before the, ah, incapacitating of governor junior, but with the mister and missus. Those knots were really impressive."

Flint smiled. "You noticed! To tell you the truth, Will was helping me practice." The pair made their way back up onto the deck and strolled towards Cash's cabin. The crew bustled around them, preparing the _Dart_ for departure. "Standing watch gets a little boring once you've conquered staying awake, and Will showed me some –"

As the two young women reentered the captain's quarters, they were halted in their tracks by the sight before them. Surrounded by flickering candlelight, Jack Sparrow was casually reclining in Captain Cash's chair with his boots up on the table. He was leaning back, and the _Chateau Latour_ bottle was upended over his mouth. With a satisfied burp and a smack of his lips, he looked up upon their entry. He leaned the chair back down onto four feet and stood.

"You're back!"

With one sound, two daggers _snicked_ out of their hidden sheaths, and Jack found himself facing the wrong end of two rather thirsty and irate pirate ladies. He held up his hands. "I can explain," he said. "I'd had no idea you had such good taste."

"Do you have any idea," spat Cash, "of the lengths we had to go through to get that bottle?"

Jack's eyes flicked from Cash's face to meet Flint's glare from under her cap. "To be fair, and before any of us does anything rash," he said, "you couldn't exactly prove that_ I_ was the one who finished it? Or, that I was alone in finishing it, can you?"

"Your _lips_ are stained with wine!" Flint hissed.

Jack appeared to consider this for half an instant. Then, with a sudden smooth motion, he encircled Flint with his arm, drew her close, and kissed her full on the mouth. Her blue eyes widened in surprise, but as his lips worked against hers, she lowered the arm wielding her knife. After he broke off the kiss, a smile twitching the corners of this mouth while Flint stood and blinked in shock, he stepped sideways and took Cash's face in his hands. He kissed her equally fully, and her skin tickled where his moustache pressed against her upper lip. She closed her eyes as he drew away. Both women inhaled slowly, nearly reeling. A unique and enthralling flavour lingered on the lips of each: deeply red wine entwined with Jack's own dark and spicy musk. Delicious. Absolutely.

"There. Share and share alike, eh?" Jack offered, voice low. Flushed, the women glanced at one another. Cash had arched an eyebrow and was about to reply when there was a cry from the deck.

"It's nearly light!" came the call of Monica the lookout. Rough and guttural cheering could be heard from the other ships moored at the Tortugan docks. Cash glanced out the window, and saw that orange and pink fingers of light were indeed beginning to colour the sky. Vengeance for her _Chateau Latour_ would have to wait.

"Shall we?"

Dana Flint, Jack Sparrow, and Captain Melanie Cash together emerged onto the deck from the captain's quarters as the first rays of the sun broke over the glassy morning water. In a sudden cacophony of calls and high screeches, the crows assigned on each ship erupted away and into the sky.

By the time the first of their pitch-dark feathers had drifted down onto the deck, the Quatripirate Tournament had already officially begun.

* * *

Author's Note – _How about a New Years Resolution for regularity? Let's see this tale finished, you and I._

With respect to the initial content of this chapter, I am heavily indebted to The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle by Avi, an astounding little book about the adventures of a thirteen-year-old girl. That book is required reading for those who want to call themselves fans of this genre, and it will take you all of an hour to blaze through. It'll learn you your ship anatomy, that's for damn sure. I've also started William Golding's To the Ends of the Earth: A Sea Trilogy, and am a staunch believer that writers, foremost, are readers. So go and read (after you've written a review)!


	14. Absolutely Necessary

_Greetings, friends! So sorry for the absence. I am alive, I am well, and this story is complete. It was, as you know, a gift for a friend (which she loved). And now I shall upload it chapter by chapter, in all its quatri-glory! Kisses ~ Dana._

Chapter Fourteen – Absolutely Necessary

Crows are endlessly fascinating creatures: ruthless, they are willing to slaughter lambs in their pastures; cunning, they converse with one another in a language ranging from battle shrieks to affectionate purrs; and devious, they strike at the weakest point of the most steadfast victims, flipping seemingly toxic prey on their backs in order to stab at vulnerable throats before gorging.

Perhaps it is little wonder, then, that their frequent position in myth and song is that of harbingers of doom.

More importantly, it is not difficult to imagine the haste with which these intelligent creatures realized their rather dire circumstances and vacated the airspace above the Tortugan harbour: below them, pandemonium had erupted with the dawn.

The morning air that had moments earlier hung heavy and quiet with anticipation was overcome with a sudden explosion of noise and smoke as every vessel of every make attempted to weigh anchor at once with the start of the tournament. While it was inevitable that the great majority of the pirates in the harbor would be more concerned with thwarting their neighbors' chances of setting sail than seeing to their own, the cacophony of cannon- and pistol-fire was nevertheless deafening. A flock of flying shrapnel pieces and splintered wood replaced the standard circling seagulls, shrieking and whistling with equal fervor. The crowding in the harbor was to the point that one fallen mainmast could easily prevent the escape of two or three smaller ships, and it was anyone's guess as to how many vessels would actually be able to extract themselves from the chaos and begin the race.

Captain Melanie Cash did not wait around to watch, and set her crew to work with a will. Knowing the capabilities of the _Yellow Dart_, Jack had been uncharacteristically sober in his instructions for their start: considering the circumstances, it was unnecessary to waste time taking up an offensive position in the harbor. Their escape, which Jack stressed must be purely hasty and defensive, would not have been possible in just any ship.

It is important to keep in mind that there is no such hard and fast thing as a _pirate _ship: as vultures settle indiscriminately on carcasses, pirates are animals of opportunity, adapting and modifying whatever ship they acquire. But it is equally important to keep in mind that Captain Melanie Cash, however thoroughly piratical she might appear to be, was something of an exception to this trend.

Melanie's selection of the good ship _Yellow Dart_ had been deliberate. It had taken research, and it had especially taken time. A new captain in search of a suitable vessel, Melanie's scrutinizing gaze was cast long and far, until it settled finally upon an unusual candidate: one of the East India Trading Company's own. The _Yellow Dart_ had begun her life as a frigate – a lethally-armed ship whose speed could put other ships-of-the-line to absolute shame. A ship in such a quick and dangerous incarnation was frequently used for cargo escort purposes, and occasionally, for hunting down pirates. When the _Dart's_ previous captain retired her firepower and put her to fitful rest as a rather peculiar merchant vessel, Melanie seized the opportunity – and the _Dart_ – and became one of the few pirates to possess a ship which would ordinarily have been used to exterminate her own kind. Sleek, black, and not unlike a crow herself, the _Yellow Dart_ was tailor-made to fly.

On this morning, it fell to Dana Flint to ensure that her wings were not clipped. Melanie had been careful to moor her ship at the furthest end of the harbor, ensuring that she would be flanked by other vessels on one side only. This had meant, obviously, that it would be easier for an unwelcome visitor to board and sabotage from the dock-side, but the crew had been vigilant during the nights and their captain's absence, and though a few pirates had attempted the age-old ploy of parting the _Dart_ from her rudder, none had succeeded. Thus, while the _Dart's_ crew did what they did best, Dana secured the port-side as she did best: she straddled the deck railing and unleashed the venom of her pistols.

Under the strict instructions from Jack, however, the firefight was not nearly as furious as the gunslinger would have preferred. From her position in the middle of the railing, she was simply to watch the line of open gunports of the vessel alongside them and fire at anyone she saw behind the cannons. Will and the surprisingly gun-savvy surgeon Matthew were also on hand to aid her in firing first at any sailor they saw leveling a firearm in their direction. But the _Dart's_ exit was swift. With her cargo minimal, her own gunports closed, and the full grandeur of her sails open, they moved quickly. As they began to accelerate, Dana, Will, and Matthew kept pace by retreating to the back of the ship, and as they pulled away, Dana's parting shots from the quarterdeck reduced the leering face of the other ship's figurehead to an unrecognizable mess of wood.

"Well, that's just a bad omen for them," Matthew remarked with a smile as Dana carefully holstered her smoking guns. "Bad luck – a ruined figurehead leads to a ruined crew."

Dana was grinning as the trio turned back to the main body of the ship. The crew was coordinating their adjustments to make the best use of the wind outside the bay. At the _Dart's_ helm with a hand to the wheel, Melanie turned to view the receding mayhem. Not a single vessel emerged from the haze of gunsmoke to give chase. "Fantastic," she murmured.

"No need for thanks," replied Jack as he sauntered his way up the quarterdeck stairs. He spread his hands. "It's just … what I do."

Melanie arched an eyebrow. "If only my poor, lazy ship could have been of some use in your perfect plan, Jack Sparrow, we might have really achieved something here today."

Their interchange was cut short by a shout and the sudden appearance of the ship's cook, Rowena. Melanie was vaguely startled – the Spanish lady ordinarily kept to the galley, unless called upon to brandish her wicked kitchen-knife, which she could wield with unmatched finesse. But now she was bustling across the deck in the captain's direction, hauling a pair of familiar figures by their ears.

"_Ladrones!_" Rowena cried, but Melanie observed that hers was good-natured fury. Her warm brown eyes were sparkling with mirth, even as she frowned and tugged her yowling captives along. "_Yo encontré ladrones en mi cocina!_"

"Thieves in your kitchen, you say?" Melanie passed control of the helm off to Jack. Behind him, Will and Dana had craned their necks to watch, but the pleasure and recognition on their faces was immediate.

Melanie stood with her hands on her hips before the captives, who yelped as Rowena released them with a final pinch. "How long have you two been stowed away?"

"Since last night. We 'itched a ride from Port Royal."

Melanie, who had been doing an admirable job of looking appropriately grave, finally lost her composure and burst out laughing. "Why the hell were you two hiding out, anyway?"

The first prisoner, a gypsy-lady wrapped in flowing skirts and a mass of curly hair, was rubbing her ear. "Well, we couldn't 'ave known if ye'd give us th' boot off, now could we?" Carine Cash glared at her older sister. "Such cheek, Melanie, signin' up for a tourney and sailin' off wifout s' much as a by-your-leave."

"She does have a point," agreed the second prisoner. He was a relatively short young man, with enormously blue eyes behind the feathered curtain of his dark hair. Beneath the collar of his tunic, a silver chain gleamed against his pale skin. "You didn't tell us that you were going, so we assumed you wouldn't want us to come." Jones Underhill shook his head. "Impolite. Good thing we decided to come anyway."

Carine Cash, whom we've already had the pleasure of meeting as owner and proprietor of the relatively respectable _Poco_ pub in Port Royal, was also the official scribe of the _Yellow Dart_. As thoroughly a pirate as her kinswoman, she routinely entertained in Port Royal – and especially for Will Turner – while the _Dart_ sought its fortune in deeper waters. Jones Underhill was a longtime friend associate of Will Turner and owner of Port Royal's _Green Dragon_ pub. As fellow ale-house keepers, Carine and Jones had become fast friends and recipe-collaborators.

"Besides," Jones added. "It was temporary, but we were Officially Forgotten About near the end of the last story."

Carine nodded curtly. "That's not 'appenin' again."

"Well, it's a fine thing that you've decided to come," said Melanie. "But it's an even better thing that you decided to be caught coming."

"Oh, I don't know," Jones replied. "Hiding out for a night in the brig was comfortable enough. Actually, it was a little strange – there were already cushions down there, and some pillows and blankets –"

" – an' scented candles …" added Carine.

Melanie turned slightly pink, but waved their comments away. "That's not what I meant. I meant that you were wise to let us know that you were here, because we're about to cross into some rather dangerous waters."

"Dangerous?"

"Dangerously interesting." From up at the helm, Jack's gold-tipped grin flashed down at them. "I will say this about the Dread Pirate Roberts – the man knows how to begin festivities properly."

Carine wrinkled her nose. "Wot's that supposed t' mean?"

"It means," said Melanie, not without her own smile, "that we're going to need some rope."

* * *

They were to travel south, away from Port Royal and Tortuga, and towards even warmer waters. The next morning grew bright and clear as a solitary _Yellow Dart_ cruised blithely through the foaming blue. Her sails were strangely silent, stretched taut and trembling and wind-full, and it was instead her crew that was complaining loudly.

"Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?"

Jack, Will, Matthew, and Jones were in a ring with their backs against the mainmast and their arms pinned to their sides. They were securely tied, and could not move. Although Matthew couldn't directly see Will to answer him, he piped up anyway.

"I really don't feel comfortable taking a risk any other way."

Captain Cash and Dana Flint stood together before Jack with their arms folded. They were both smiling, and listening politely while Jack was renewing his own protests. "Listen darlings, you know that _I_ don't need to be here."

Melanie shook her head. "We have to take care of all the men, Jack. Strangely enough, you qualify."

"But I'm not like -" he jerked his head over his shoulder to indicate the others. "I'm more than slightly more sophisticated. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I want to see them."

"And you will. We just don't want you to take a chance seeing them up close."

"I won't! I'd remain decidedly ship-bound."

Melanie sighed. "You wouldn't."

"I would. I can resist. This mind is impenetrable."

Both women laughed. "I don't doubt that," said Dana. "But I wonder whether even Jack Sparrow would be able to withstand the call of a siren for very long."

Jack smiled, slowly, deliberately, and tilted his head. "Love," he purred, "let's not forget who it is that does 'is own luring, eh? It's not me that needs to beware."

Almost against their will, Melanie and Dana both regarded Jack for a full moment before they could wrench their gazes away. Dana blinked before turning to the _Yellow Dart's_ captain. "How does he do that?"

Melanie smiled knowingly. "I've found it to be a combination of cologne, eyeliner, and cheekbones."

"Amazing."

"It is."

"But you say he's been slapped across the face how many times?"

"By women in general? Times uncountable."

"And by you?"

"Times countable, but the number is very high."

According to the map given them by the Dread Pirate Roberts, the town they sought was on the coast of an unfamiliar land to the direct south of Tortuga and Port Royal. Its name had not been included on the parchment, presumably so that they would rely solely on their navigational prowess to find it, and be not able to do something so mundane as simply ask for directions. Though neither voiced her opinion aloud, both Melanie and Dana envisioned the same ground for the QuatriPirate Tournament: a barren shelf of windblown white sand, empty of everything but a starting line etched into the ground.

What made the voyage interesting was the very reason the male population of the _Yellow Dart_ was securely fastened to the mainmast. Though the name of their destination had not been penned onto the QuatriPirate map, several fascinating illustrations were. At the rapidly approaching midpoint of their journey were evidently a scattering of small islets, which might otherwise have been passed over if not for the delicately drawn female figure that accompanied them. The figure was a tiny one, but her particular anatomy was unmistakable: half woman, half serpent.

A siren.

Handmaidens of the ocean, daughters of the seagod, sirens were doom in the guise of beautiful women, an irony that one such as Jack no doubt appreciated. Predators, sirens sang their songs to seduce sailors away from their ships, or coax those ships onto jagged rocks and shoals from which they would not be able to return.

There was more than one form of siren-song, a fact to which the waif Carly could attest. In a past life she had befriended a monstrous sea serpent, one who had been able to take on the form of a beautiful mermaid. Her kind, too, baited sailors with their ethereal songs, and Carly well remembered how thoroughly the serpent's song had entranced even a girl as young as she had been: hearing the song, she had felt dreamy, completely relaxed, and completely unconcerned with her fate, even as the mermaid had smiled and revealed her wickedly pointed teeth.

It was Carly who suggested that the women of the _Yellow Dart_ also take some sort of precaution, just in case. It wouldn't do to lose crewmen – or especially crewwomen – so close to the start of the tournament, and it was dangerous to assume that the Dread Pirate Roberts would have been so ignorant of the multitude of female pirates that he would neglect to include them in his challenges as well. As such, everyone was equipping themselves with either cloth or cork earplugs.

Everyone apart from Jack. When Melanie and Dana obligingly inserted plugs into the ears of all of the bound gentlemen, Jack jerked away. "I want to hear them."

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Are you asking to be driven mad?"

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Well, madder?"

"Old joke, darling. Try something a bit more fresh."

"Islands, ho!" Monica, the lookout, cried out from the crow's nest before she shimmied down. "We're getting close, Captain." Melanie thanked her before she hurried away.

"See? I'm being serious, Jack. Dana's going to tie me to the wheel and the rest of the crew are going below. I'm not losing this tournament before I even get there. So do me a favor before we wind up sailing past the sirens and let me put these plugs in."

Jack sighed. "Fine. No ear plugs, but I'll let you retie me." Melanie glanced down, and saw that Jack had indeed picked his way through the previous knots which had evidently been placed too close to his nimble fingers. She growled and reknoted the rope, perhaps more roughly than necessary.

"Have it your way, then. No plugs. But if you go overboard – mentally or physically – I'm not responsible. I'm washing my hands of you, right now." Jack smiled, satisfied, and leaned his head back against the mast.

"I assure you, good captain, I wish only to be a humble audience."

At that moment, the wind began to rise. It had filled the _Yellow Dart's_ sails to the brim before, but now the rigging squealed and strained with the effort of containing it. The ship was speeding up. Melanie hurried up the stairs to the quarterdeck, and the waiting Dana quickly lashed a length of rope around her wrists and to the smooth wood of the wheel.

The gunslinger glanced at Melanie from under the brow of her hat. "Are you sure about all of this?"

Melanie nodded. "It's the only way. Someone has to stay up here, and I'll have my earplugs in. If this wind keeps up, we might just cruise past them without noticing. I can't believe the time we're making."

"All right – I'll be below. If you need anything –"

"I'll stomp. Hopefully you'll hear me."

Dana smirked. "I'll be watching. I'm more likely to see the splash as Jack jumps overboard, but you did mention we only needed minimum cargo for this excursion." Melanie laughed.

"Don't be sore. You've got his pistol, after all. I know for a fact that there are people out there who would kill to own something like that."

"They'd probably kill to own it so that they could kill him with it."

"Dana."

"I'm just thinking of the ship. If we go ahead and jettison what isn't strictly necessary …"

"Dana. You like Jack. You're just still upset that you lost to him. He'll grow on you, voluntarily or not. Besides, you're a pirate now – technically speaking, you're _my_ pirate now. Don't let Jack fall overboard, and don't make me order you to get along. Savvy?"

Melanie was rewarded with a mock glare. Dana jammed in her own earplugs, then the captain's, and snapped off a salute before turning to join the rest of the crew below deck. Melanie was glad that the gunslinger would be watching. It was completely possible – _completely probable_, she reminded herself, testing the strength of her bonds – that they would be able to pass by Roberts' challenge with no difficulty at all, but there was something about the circumstances, something about the relatively simplicity of the whole of the tournament's beginning, that was starting to ring false. This tournament was meant to gather the greatest pirates that sailed: how could it be so easy? Where was the challenge?

The challenge, it seemed, had been patiently waiting for them to arrive.


	15. Siren Songs and

Chapter Fifteen – Siren Songs and Eighteenth-Century Figureheads

The _Yellow Dart_ had caught hold of a wind so ferociously fast that Melanie had to slit her eyes against its force from her position at the helm. Their speed was absolutely incredible, even by the _Dart's_ usual lofty standards. She cut through the water smoothly, seemingly rushing forward with a purpose, and it was not long before the islets that Monica had hailed appeared as spots marring the clean line of the horizon.

Melanie scrutinized them as they neared, and adjusted the wheel to carefully angle her ship between the pair that looked to be the largest and the furthest apart. At their current speed any obstacle was potentially dangerous, and the depth of the water that surrounded islands and islets was rarely predictable. The _Dart_ cruised towards the islets swiftly, and started to glide in between them. Melanie was unsurprised to note that what had appeared to be harmless islets were in fact rocky islands, accented with dark and jagged outcroppings.

Then, just as suddenly as the wind had rushed up, it disappeared completely.

Melanie swore loudly as the _Dart_ slowed, not hearing the sound of her own voice because of the plugs, and cautiously readjusted the wheel. She would not draw her crew from safety in order to rework the sails, now drooping limp and useless, but if it were possible to find a swiftly moving undercurrent …

Movement at the edge of her vision snatched up her attention, and Melanie turned to discover that the jagged rocks at the perimeter of her ship had become unexpectedly populated. As the _Dart_ drifted to a standstill, Melanie stared in stunned amazement at what appeared to be a group of mermaids on the rocks. They were breathtakingly beautiful creatures, with white skin and curling tresses that ranged from glimmering gold to raven black. The sunlight glinted off the water droplets that clung to their bare skin, transforming their every movement into the shimmer of a precious jewel: some trailed their fingers through their hair, some flicked their iridescent green tails into the water, and some simply gazed in the direction of the _Yellow Dart_ with rapt fascination.

All were singing. Melanie watched their ruby lips move, and was thankful she could observe in safe silence. It was difficult to miss the occasional flash of their predatory teeth, but Melanie assumed that she was paying much more attention to their mouths than would the average sailor. Thinking of the average sailor, Melanie glanced back over her shoulder towards Jack. With Jones was opposite him, and Will and Matthew keeping their eyes resolutely shut, he was the man bound on the only side of the mainmast in full view of the sirens.

It was obvious that Jack Sparrow was in anguish. Even from where she was bound, Melanie could see the beads of sweat standing out his skin. She watched him swallow with difficulty: he was breathing hard, and had evidently lost the need to blink. Deaf to herself, Melanie smirked, and called to him. "How do they sound?"

Jack's eyes flicked briefly in her direction, huge, dark, and crazed. She watched his lips move, slowly, dreamily. "It's not that they're singing," he managed. "They're calling to me. From inside my head."

Melanie forced a laugh. "I believe _impenetrable_ was the word – " she began, but stopped when Jack lazily turned again and faced her fully. His jaw was slack, and his eyes, ordinarily sharp and merry with secret scheming, were strangely blank, as though a gauzy veil had been pulled across them. The first cold finger of panic started to trace a line down Melanie's spine when his mouth formed the words she thought no mortal to ever hear from Captain Jack.

"I yield."

Melanie's retort caught in her throat. She had opened her mouth to try and reply, when Jack said the words again, more softly. She realized, with a jolt, that these words were not directed to her – they were directed to the voices inside his head.

"Jack!" she cried. When she looked back over the side of the motionless _Dart_, she was startled to see that the sirens had stopped singing: they had abandoned their coy act altogether, and Melanie, alone on the quarterdeck, was now the target of several malicious blue stares. She swallowed, and quietly struggled to free herself from the wheel.

She turned back to Jack, who was still gazing in her direction with an unsettling absence. His head was inclined slightly to one side, as though he were listening. "What – what are they saying?"

He didn't answer her immediately. He stood limply and unbalanced, largely supported by the ropes that bound him to the mast, and continued looking vacantly at a point in space somewhere over her left shoulder. "They want to know … why they haven't received … a sacrifice," Jack's mouth said eventually. It opened again – evidently there was more to relay. "They want … sailors."

Melanie hadn't needed to be told the last part. She twisted back around. "_Sailors_?" she roared at the sirens. "Who do you think we are? A barge of idiot brigands that will leap over the side of the ship for a paltry tune? Bad luck for you that most of us are women, and worse luck that every _person_ in my crew is securely named and backstoried – there is no one that could be spared as a nameless offering, even if we decided to give you one!"

She turned to Jack, not hearing the venom in her own voice. "In a word, we are disinclined to acquiesce to their request."

Jack did not blink, and his mouth reformed one word: "Sacrifice."

In the heat of the early afternoon, with the sun glaring up off of the smooth dead ocean, Captain Melanie Cash made her final decision. She spun back around to face the sirens, whose enchantment and enticement had vanished utterly in the face of their exposed, feral hunger.

Melanie narrowed her eyes in kind. Then she turned her head and spat.

Jack's lip lifted in a snarl, and his eyes flashed suddenly and horrifyingly black. Then, abruptly, his body sagged heavily against the ropes. He had been abandoned.

Melanie did not see this. Her eyes were suddenly sealed shut, and she had been all but brought to her knees by the wail, high and quaking, that had erupted from the throats of the furious sirens. Her earplugs were useless: the sirens' scream pierced the darkest and most secret recesses of mind, blinding her with pain.

She threw back her and opened her mouth, helpless to do anything but echo the shriek that threatened to crack her skull, when she was badly startled by a rough pair of hands grasping hers. With the utmost effort, she opened her eyes. Through the haze of her pain, she saw that the water and sky had gone black, and that Dana was furiously working to release her from the helm.

When her hands were free, Melanie wrenched the plugs from her ears. She glanced back at the rocky shore, but it was deserted: the sound of the sirens' fury was replaced with the shriek of the rising wind. "I don't know what you said," Dana said, grinning wildly. "But we're all still here! Daughters of the seagod be damned!" As if in response to her blasphemy, a savage rain began to pelt them with icy bullets and a crack of thunder tore through the sky. The crew of the _Yellow Dart_ was emerging with the storm, and their movements were frantic as they sought to bring their ship under control in the violence of the sudden tempest.

Melanie took the briefest moment to steady herself, and then steadied the ship by wrenching the wheel to the side – she would not have the _Dart_ run aground in the sirens' domain. As she watched, her crew tried valiantly to harness the sudden wind for the _Dart's_ gain, but it was maddeningly impossible: the wind seemed to come from all directions at once. Worse, the ship was beginning to rock wildly.

"I have a suggestion!" Jones shouted.

Melanie installed Carine at the helm and lurched towards Jones, doing her best to grasp the ropes that secured him to the mast as the _Dart_ pitched and rolled. In the sudden and illuminating lightning-flashes, Jones' skin was very white and his eyes were very blue. At present, however, those very blue eyes were also slightly impish. She removed one of his cork ear plugs. "Let's have it!" she cried.

"You've angered the seagod! I don't think you're going to like the solution!"

"Whenever anyone says something like that," Melanie returned, "it's usually a pretty good indication that it will, nevertheless, work. So let's have it."

"Well, to start, do we know what year it is?"

A squall of wind tried valiantly to knock Melanie off of her feet, and she gripped Jones' shoulder. Hard. "This isn't the best time to fool around, Jones."

Jones winced. "I'm completely serious. It's an important question. _Do you know what year it is_?"

Melanie opened her mouth to reply, and then stopped. She blinked. "Actually, no, I _don't_ know."

She looked around, squinting her eyes against the unrelenting rain. "Flint!" she shouted. Dana struggled to make her way across the deck, and finally steadied herself against the mast. Water ran off the brim of her hat in a torrent. "What is it?"

"Do you know what year it is?"

"What?"

"What year is it?"

Dana hesitated, and then started to laugh. "Would you believe it? I don't know – I have no idea!" She laughed harder. "How can we have no idea when we are?"

"Well, I know technically when _we_ are," started Melanie. "Right now it's about to become two thousand - " Melanie was cut off as an wayward wave suddenly curled up over the side of the _Dart_ and smashed against the deck and mainmast. She and Dana nearly choked on the freezing water. "No, no," Melanie spluttered. "I guess I have no idea."

"But that's not a bad thing!" cried Jones.

"Why not?"

"Because of figureheads!"

Both women regarded Jones as though he had gone mad. "How much sea-water have you swallowed?" Dana shouted above the wind.

"A lot! But what I'm saying makes perfect sense! Listen, women on ships are supposed to be bad luck, aren't they?"

"That currently seems to be the case," Melanie agreed.

"Well, the same thing is true for the figureheads on ships. Women on ships were bad luck, and so were women as figureheads."

"Our figurehead is a bird, Jones!"

Jones shook his head. "That doesn't matter! My point is that during the golden age of piracy, it was a generally known fact …" Jones paused as another choking wave threatened to spill over the side of the _Dart_, and hastily corrected himself. "Er, what I mean to say is that it _is_ a generally known fact that during the beginning of the eighteen century – which may or may not be now – figureheads were usually a male figure, like a lion, or something mythical and without an obvious gender, like a unicorn or a bird."

"So what?"

"Let me finish! But closer to the end of the eighteen century – which may or may not be now – the general attitude towards women and sailing changed, mostly because religion had started to change. It started with the Virgin Mary, but soon all sorts of women started showing up as figureheads. My point is that there was a belief behind this push for women as figureheads, depending on which year we're in."

The wind roared louder. "Damn it, Jones!" Melanie shouted. "What belief was that?"

"Well, since antiquity, it has been believed that a woman has a special ability to calm an angry sea – "

"That's excellent!"

" – by baring her breasts."

For a full minute, there was no sound save the howl of the wind and the lash of rain on the _Dart's_ deck as the infamous Captain Melanie Cash and the notorious gunslinger Dana Flint were rendered completely and uncharacteristically speechless. They stared, open-mouthed, at Jones. Jones, the slanting rain in his face, returned their gaze as best as he could before speaking up.

"That's why the push for female figureheads, because a naked, busty mermaid is supposed to tame the angry ocean. I told you that you weren't going to like it."

Dana eyed Jones. "I find it hard to believe that something as ridiculous as female frontal nudity would appease a seagod."

"A male and notoriously lusty seagod," Jones corrected her.

This gave both women pause. Dana glanced at Melanie. "What do you think?"

The timber groaned beneath their feet as the _Dart_ fought to stay upright. Water cascaded over their faces, and the lightning flashed again. "I think that at this point, anything is worth a try," Melanie shouted.

From the opposite side of the mainmast, Jack startled them. "I'd just like to mention that I'm throwing in my hat wif' Jones!" he called. "A good idea is a good idea!"

Melanie grimaced. "I forgot that he didn't have earplugs."

Dana looked surprised. "I saw what happened to him. Are we sure his brains aren't scrambled?"

Melanie raised an eyebrow.

"Well, more scrambled?"

"Old joke, Flint. Try something a bit more fresh. In any case, we don't have time for Jack's brain right now." She jammed Jones' plug back into his ear, and then fumbled to untie the black and white striped cloth sash that was wound around her waist. She tore it in half and passed one section to Dana, before tearing her own in half again and effectively creating a blindfold for a protesting Jones.

Dana grinned. "A good idea is a good idea," she agreed. She tore her strip similarly, and blindfolded both Matthew and Will, who were understandably surprised. Their earplugs had prevented them from hearing Jones' suggestion, but when they asked Dana what she was doing she only shook her head. There would be time to talk about it, or not, after the storm had passed. For now, it was taking a heroic effort to simply keep to her feet.

She followed Melanie's progress towards the raised forecastle at the front of the ship. It was slow going – the deck with slick with foaming water, and several barrels and crates of unsecured cargo had escaped to tumble back and forth as the ship rolled. When the _Dart_ rocked dangerously to one side, Dana could see the churning waves of the expectant black deep. She did her best to hurry.

She came to stand beside Melanie, who was gripping the forecastle railing with one white-knuckled hand, and fumbling with the buttons on her soaked tunic with the other. The _Dart's_ captain turned to her, squinting against the rain. "Let's give this a try!" she cried. Despite the circumstances, she managed a wry smile. "If that chauvinist Poseidon isn't sated by the two of us, then we'll have to get the whole crew involved." Dana nodded and tore her hat off. She pulled her shirt over her head, and jammed in the two in amongst a twist of secure lining. She was not going to lose her hat.

Now both women were facing the full fury of the storm, standing only in their brassieres. They held the railing with one hand each as the ship bucked and swayed. Their hair whipped madly about their faces. The lightning flashed and the thunder cracked. They turned to one another. Melanie started to laugh again, a strange sound in the howling rage of the storm, before her voice was dashed away by the wind. "Flint!" she said. "Thinking back to your table at that damned _Not-Exactly- a-Pub_, would you ever have been able to picture yourself here, doing this?"

Dana chuckled. "Something tells me that it's a little early for talk such as that, Cash. We aren't half done yet!"

Melanie nodded, satisfied, as the wind renewed its force. "Ready?" she shouted. Dana cried _aye_. With one fluid motion, both women ripped off their brassieres and let them fly from their fingers. Naked from the waist up, they screwed their eyes shut as the _Dart_ pitched to the side a final, dizzying, time –

– and just as quickly as the storm had burst upon them, it was gone. By the time the _Dart_ righted herself and landed squarely with a mammoth _whomp_, the clouds had dissolved and the sun had started to shine. The frenzied wind sighed away and was replaced with a solid breeze from the north: this wind would not heave them along at the same breakneck pace as had the first, but this time they were not being delivered into the open jaws of a waiting trap.

All around them, water streamed down from the rigging and pattered against the deck. Water dripped from Dana's and Melanie's hair, plastered across their faces, down to their bare shoulders. They blinked and looked around.

"Well, who knew," Melanie said. She gathered her hair into a handful to squeeze out. "Who knew that Poseidon was just a dirty old man."

Dana was nodding slowly, awed by the sudden warm blue of the sky and the sea. "I guess you never can tell. Although, maybe it was supposed to be a metaphor for something."

"What do you mean?"

Dana shrugged. "Maybe stripping off our clothes is supposed to be like stripping off our pride, or something. Maybe that was the real sacrifice. Pride."

"Oh, I don't know about that," came Jack's voice from behind them. "After all, you've both got quite a bit of which to be proud." They both turned around to face him. Jack was reclining casually against the deck railing. It was only when a slow, sly smile stole across his face that they both recalled that they were still, in effect, half in the buff.

Melanie realized something else at the same time. "You aren't tied to the mast … Jack, were you _ever_ tied to the mast?"

Jack only smiled, eyes dancing. Without shifting the unabashed admiration of his gaze, he bowed low. "I told you, darling. I am, and shall ever strive to be, only the must humble audience."


	16. Mister Doyle

Chapter Sixteen – Mister Doyle

Once they had reestablished their southern course and wrung out – and redressed in – their sodden clothing, the crew of _Yellow Dart_ rapidly regained their spirit and their speed. In the newly balmy weather, crewwomen crossed and recrossed the deck, lashing down the wayward cargo and releasing the wet and heavy sails. In the captain's quarters, the future contenders of the QuatriPirate Tournament had reconvened and were gathered around the cozy chaos of Melanie's vast desk.

"Don't get me wrong," Will was saying. His ordinarily sleek ponytail had not yet recovered from the storm, and his dark hair was splayed in a not-unappealing disarray across his shoulders. "That last adventure was particularly … entertaining. I'm just wondering whether we ought to expect anything more like that anytime soon."

Melanie, fully dressed and resplendent once more in her customary captain's garb, could only offer Will a knowing smile from behind her desk. She guessed, correctly, that Will's biggest problem with tied-to-the-mast adventuring was the condition of being tied-to-the-mast: it was not a secret that this young man was more suited to slash and bash. It would, however, have been no fun to allow her burgeoning Errol Flynn the satisfaction of that acknowledgment. "My dear Mister Turner," she said. "If you knew how many potentially _particularly entertaining_ situations this ship has cruised over or around while you are rocked to sleep in your hammock," she shook her head. "You would not sleep well for knowing. I'll leave it at that."

"Bollocks to the baddies under the whelp's bed," interjected Jack. "How far are we away from port?"

Melanie cleared her throat and resumed spinning her silver compass about between her fingers. "That's actually why I wanted to speak with you. We're close," she answered tightly. "According to Roberts' map, after the sirens it should be a straight and simple run to the mainland, barring an unfortunate sea monster or headwind, of course."

Dana had her back to the group and was looking out of the window. "Should be a straight and simple run?"

"That's right," said Melanie. "It should be, according to the map."

"But it isn't?"

"But it isn't."

Jack cocked his head to one side. "What you do mean, love?"

"This map was designed for us, drawn up. I know there's no such thing as an official or accurate map nowadays, but Roberts' map isn't even that. It's an altered copy of whatever would pass for an original." With one ringed finger, she tapped the map spread on her desk. "This map was designed for our use in the QuatriPirate Tournament. All names have been left out. Fair. But encountering the siren islands this close to the south of Port Royal reminded one of my crew of something she'd seen before." The corners of Melanie's mouth twitched. "Before Monica was, ah, encouraged to begin working with us, she was an apprentice to a cartographer – and then that mapmaker was snatched by pirates, too. In any case, she remembered seeing the original drawings of where we're headed, and after the storm, she went through my stores and found it."

Melanie stood and plucked a tightly rolled chart from one of the shelves behind her. As she unfurled it, she pressed her lips together in displeasure, setting her mouth in a grim line. Jack frowned.

"Melanie – where are we going?"

"_Léogâne_." She let the word drop heavily from her mouth as though it had an unpleasant taste.

Jack, who had been obligingly leaning forward to view the proffered map, straightened up immediately. "Léogâne?"

"That's right," said Melanie. "It seems that the Dread Pirate Roberts is not without a sense of humor."

"What is Léogâne?" asked Will.

"Léogâne is a port town," Jack answered. It was clear that despite what he was saying to them, his mind had already sprinted on ahead. He spoke slowly, and his eyes were far away. "There are several problems with Léogâne, the least of which is the fact that it is a mere twenty miles inland to the capital, Saint-Domingue."

Will and Dana glanced at one another, mystified. Jack elaborated.

"As a pirate apprehended, justice will ordinarily find you at th' wrong end of a short drop. But if you are lucky enough to warrant a fair trail, in Saint-Domingue you'll find the quarters to wait for it. Saint-Domingue is home to _Tess' End_. It's a pirate jail." Jack wrinkled his nose.

"You recall those handy little parchments your executioner has to read your fair life's charges from?" Melanie said to Will and Dana. "_Tess' End_ is where they're compiled. Any pirate worth her salt has her own ream of exploits there, squirreled away, waiting to fuel her pyre-fire. Fame or fatality, depending on how you look at it."

Will looked confused, and had a brief vision of James Norrington's curled white wig. "But I thought the Royals were involved in that?"

"They are. Léogâne is their port, and Saint-Domingue is their playground. It would appear that the QuatriPirate Tournament is going to be held in the breeding grounds of the British Royal Fleet."

Melanie let her statement hang in the humid air for a moment before she continued. Will had turned a particular shade of off-white and Dana let her eyes rest heavily on the menacing map. Absentmindedly, she put a hand to her hip for the gun holster that wasn't there.

"Well, I think that we could all use a drink," Jack said finally. Always the courteous host, Melanie fished an opaque amber bottle from her cabinet and pulled out the cork. She passed the bottle to Jack.

"If you like my idea," Melanie said, "then we can drink to our victory." Jack raised his eyebrows over the bottle.

"The water will be swarming with redcoats. We haven't the time to go around, and it would be foolish to fight our way through."

"What options are we left with?" asked Will.

"Disguise," answered Melanie. "The _Dart_ is a frigate. We bring down the Jolly Roger, seal up the gun ports, and button up some red coats of our own. I've some on hand for just such an occasion."

"In your closet of play clothes and corsets?" asked Dana with a small smile.

"The same."

"I don't know," said Will. "Best case scenario, we pass through, unchallenged and undetected. Worst case scenario, we're surrounded at close range, with no room to maneuver or fire." Melanie eyed her new crewman appraisingly.

"I'm impressed, Will. You remind me of my first mate, Matthew, always looking for an exit. I'm glad you're finally starting to think like a pirate."

Will half-blushed. "It's common sense, really. For example, in case we're boarded, do you have documents of passage?"

With her boot-heel, Melanie dragged a wooden crate out from under her desk. She flipped off the lid to reveal sheaf upon sheaf of both white and yellowed parchment, all gleaming with official-looking ink and seals.

"Take your pick," she said.

"So you're saying we dress up, hold our breath, and do our best to cruise by?" Dana said.

"Basically."

"I think that I might have a better idea. But," she smiled at Melanie with roguish good cheer from under the low brim of her hat, and came around the desk to stand before her. "I don't think you're going to like it."

"Last time that we didn't like it very much," Jack said, cutting in, "I liked it very much." He waved at Dana with his bottle, making the contents slosh. The bottle, Dana noticed, was now significantly less full. "Out wif it, dearie."

"I propose taking the idea of a disguise one step further. After all, this is a tournament – we can't afford to think only of ourselves. Whether they've lost souls to the sirens or no, I would be willing to bet that there are other ships behind us. I think it in our best interest to ensure they never reach port."

Melanie leaned forward, interested. "How?"

"As you said, bring down the flag, close up the ports, button up our coats, and ready the papers," Dana said. "But then, we approach the nearest fleet ship. And we hail them."

"But that's the opposite of the point of a disguise."

"No, it's the best opportunity to wear one. Hail the nearest fleet ship. Let them board us, and let them see what we are – a battered frigate ship, limping back to port after our recent and tragic run-in _with pirates_."

Will grinned as the full implications of the gunslinger's suggestion became clear. "Then they'd be on full alert for pirates! We'd be sealing a line of artillery behind us as we made port ourselves!"

"Let's hope that Roberts is in Léogâne already," Dana agreed. "Or else we won't have a judge to declare us the winners when everyone else is arrested."

"I actually don't mind the idea," Melanie said. "But I do have one question. How do we convince them that we've had a hostile encounter with dangerous pirates? I mean, a few of the red coats in my closet are bloodied, but that's really the only way I could have a few red coats in my closet. What would convince them that we were injured?"

"That part would be easy." Dana cleared her throat. "All we would have to do is use one of our cannons to blow a hole in the side of the ship."

Will's eyes widened. Jack lowered his bottle. Melanie sat very still. She folded her hands primly. "So, let's just make sure we're being clear," she said slowly. "Your suggestion, Miss Flint, is to purposely bring harm to my _Yellow Dart_." Dana opened her mouth, but in the sudden palpable silence, could not reply. There was a moment of calm in which the doomed gunslinger had time to reflect upon the happier moments of her tragically short life.

And then Melanie leapt over her desk at her with a snarl.

Outside, on the sunny quarterdeck of the _Dart_, Carly and Milton were perched up on the railing and having a snack. As Carly separated an orange and Milton plucked a juicy segment from her fingers, there came shouting and the sound of a bottle smashing from inside the captain's cabin. The unconcerned eyes of waif and capuchin followed the emergence of a protesting gunslinger and of her enraged captain, who was restrained on one side by a flustered blacksmith and on the other by an obviously drunk pirate rogue.

Carly turned to her little friend. "It seems to me," she said, "that we're about to make port."

Milton regarded his mistress with shining black eyes, and then stuffed the last segment of orange into his mouth.

* * *

Aboard the fleet ship _Queen's_ _Olympia_, just half a mile off the docks of Léogâne, the afternoon sun was doing its best to lull the British sailors to sleep on their feet. In the cool of his cabin, Commodore Watson was meticulously comparing a written inventory list with a shipment order from Saint-Domingue. He checked off each item in turn, and was carefully dipping his quill into his inkwell when the open doorway was abruptly filled with the bulk of his stocky second-in-command. The young man snapped off a salute, and Watson nodded at him to enter.

"Sir," the young man said. "There is a distressed frigate entering the portway."

Watson raised his eyebrows, but continued his work. "Distressed?"

"Yes, sir. Her royal colors are inverted, and she's obviously suffered cannon-fire, stern-side. Some of the men –" The young man hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Some of the men believe it might have been a pirate encounter."

Watson glanced up now, and the youth swallowed hard, suddenly nervous under the frosty eyes of his commanding officer.

"After - after all, sir, she's a frigate. Only a ship like that would have been able to outrun pirates, and her damage is back side."

Watson appeared to consider this. He tapped his quill against the side of the inkwell and laid it gently on his desk. "Move to intercept and board," he said finally. "We'll ascertain whether or not there were, in fact, pirates, and can send word to the capital for aid in the event of heavily casualties." He stood, and his second-in-command moved immediately to help him on with his red coat. The brass buttons shone. The corner of Watson's mouth curled slightly as he did up the buttons, in what passed for a smile. "I do _so_ hope we've some pirates to string up. It's been a singularly uneventful week."

* * *

The frigate, Watson noted as his sailors heaved the crossing-plank in place, was in lovely shape. With the exception of the damage to her stern, she was an absolutely splendid ship, polished and sleek. He made a mental note to arrange a later meeting with the captain of such a ship – if he were able to outrun pirates with only a single shot to mar his escape, he would be good for business indeed. Watson, his second, and a handful of armed redcoats boarded the frigate, where her captain stood waiting with his own second-in-command.

Both looked rather haggard: the ordinarily vibrant crimson of their coats was dull, and the edges were tattered. Perhaps these men had undergone more than the single hole in their hull implied. Nevertheless, they both saluted smartly as Watson approached. He acknowledged their gesture, putting them at ease, and extended his hand. Both shook it with the firmness of their evident youth. The captain, an upright young fellow with a smooth pony-tail tucked beneath his hat and the sparse beginnings of a beard on his chin, also shook hands with Watson's crewmen. He seemed very happy to see them.

"I thought we might not see Léogâne again, sir," he said. "We barely escaped with our lives." He handed a folded document, sealed with the King's insignia, to Watson, who tucked it inside his coat without examination. "I am Captain Jaggery, of the _Seahawk_, and this is Mister Doyle." Jaggery's second nodded once, but remained silent.

"Well met," said Watson. "You mentioned escape, sailor. Escape from whom?"

Captain Jaggery's eyes narrowed. "Pirates. Without a doubt they were pirates, sir. At least three ships."

Watson's surprise registered on his face. "Three?"

"Yes, sir. Our frigate had steered due west, avoiding Tortuga, but were nearly overtaken by a cluster camped out in a cove. If it were not for the _Seahawk's_ speed, we would not be before you now." Watson looked up into the rigging, and spied the _Seahawk's_ scurrying skeleton crew.

"Any injuries?"

"None serious, sir. We carry a physician, our passenger bound for Saint-Domingue, and he has helped us tremendously. We need only to make port and patch our hull before moving on. We must keep to our schedule."

"Yes, of course," murmured the commodore. "I will give to order to form a blockade, and you can be on your way. But these pirates you mention. Did you catch a glimpse of any of their ships?" He smiled. "There are several bounties I would not mind saving myself the trouble of paying out, if it were possible to apprehend them myself."

Captain Jaggery appeared to think about this before answering. "There are no details that remain in my mind, sir. And there may even be more ships than those we sighted, or rather, than those which sighted us. I apologize."

"No need, no need."

"Out of curiosity, sir, which of the scoundrels are you looking for in particular? I would be happy to pass word along my route."

"Oh, there are always more than I can name. But we've had our eye out for some time now for the Ivan the Red, Jack Sparrow, someone who calls himself the Ruddy Baron, another who goes by Tom Swift, and a particularly elusive pirate captain who goes by the name Cash."

For the first time, Jaggery's second spoke up. "Cash, sir?"

"That's right." Watson met the young man's dark and curious eyes. His face and frame were slender and rather feminine, but he spoke with the constrained brashness of those who are used to sailing the seas and engaging in formalities only occasionally. "Mister Cash is responsible for the disappearance of more silver and precious stone convoys than I care to name."

The young second's face darkened. "_Mister_ Cash?"

Watson nodded curtly. "He's almost impossible to find," he said to Jaggery. "He'll just as soon bribe a man as kill him, they say. The man is a shadow. An evidently bejeweled shadow considering the amount he has lifted, but a shadow nonetheless."

Captain Jaggery was about to reply when his second-in-command spoke up again. "Actually, sir, now that you mention it, I believe one of our crewmen may have some information about a recent sighting of _Mister_ Cash. A very recent sighting." Jaggery glanced at Mister Doyle in surprise, but his second had half-turned away, and was politely waiting for the commodore to follow.

"I – I apologize, sir," Jaggery said with difficulty. "How foolish of me to forget. In the excitement, I had nearly – "

"Don't fear, sailor," said Watson. He patted Jaggery on the shoulder once, cordially, as he moved to follow Mister Doyle. "You'll soon have the reins secure one day. Admirable job here. This is a lovely ship." Watson turned to his second before going further. "Return at once and send out an artillery contingent. Join it. I'll remain and speak further with Captain Jaggery, and he will return me to port."

"Sir," his second saluted, and he and the _Olympia's_ crewmen moved away to reboard their own ship.

"Now then," said Watson. He fell into step beside Mister Doyle and, as they made their way across the _Seahawk's_ deck and toward the cabin on the quarterdeck, there came the sound of the _Olympia's_ crew heaving the gangplank away. "What has your man to say about the infamous Mister Cash?"

Mister Doyle replied as they entered the captain's cabin. He stood to one side and held the door open for the commodore. "If I remember correctly, I believe we've recently obtained one of _Miss_ Captain Cash's blades."

In the doorway, Commodore Watson turned, annoyed. "No, sailor. I've had to correct people about that before. It's impossible that –"

But the commodore could not finish his reprimand, because the abovementioned blade of the infamous and altogether female Captain Cash slid neatly and silently into the cavity of his stomach and upper intestines. With his mouth frozen into an _O_ of surprise, the commodore was speechless as Mister Doyle wrenched the sword upwards. He – she – leaned close to the commodore's ear. She was smiling. "Impossible," she said quietly, "is going to be getting the blood out of your coat. But at least those brass buttons are awfully shiny."

* * *

"What is the point of my hiding out in the rigging like some ridiculous gun-toting monkey when you're just going to turn around and kill the commodore yourself?" Dana folded her arms.

Carly frowned. "I wouldn't recommend insulting gun-toting monkeys."

Dana rolled her eyes. "Is there something else about Milton that we should all know?"

"Well, he does have opposable thumbs."

"Opposable thumbs does not a gunslinger make. If I had a prehensile tail, I'd be interesting, but I wouldn't be a monkey."

"Well, technically –"

"The only reason," Melanie interjected, "that neither of you has been stabbed yet is because I just finished getting commodore blood off of my sword. I swear, British blood just seems to stick to it in a way that no other blood does."

"That's probably because it's a French sword," Matthew suggested.

"What does that even _mean_?"

"What makes you think I'm not serious, Melanie? What good is a gunslinger on a ship if she isn't a sniper? Do you want me to shoot the next albatross?"

"I happen to like getting in close to do my work." Melanie glared at Matthew. "And if anything about me is French, apart from everything, we'll say it's that."

Matthew looked innocently away into the distance. "Your face is French."

"Playful banter," Jack interrupted loudly from across the deck, "is only playful banter when _I_ am a part of it." Jack was helping Jones and Carine weigh anchor and secure the _Dart_ at the Léogâne port. Melanie's crew, all working carefully in their Sunday best to avoid unwanted attention as pirates, still smiled when they looked out onto the water and saw the makeshift armada keeping watch over the port-town – with their guns pointing in the opposite direction of the _Dart_, of course.

Jack's impatience to be off the ship and officially onto the QuatriPirate dock was perfectly understandable. Melanie's heart had begun to race when they first weighed anchor, and she had scrutinized all of the docked vessels for telltale signs of piracy – an absent flag, gunports that were too open or too closed – but so far there had been nothing to quell her excitement, and her panic, about having successfully negotiated the way to Léogâne.

When the final preparations were made, a handful of crewmembers stepped off of the _Yellow Dart_ while the remainder opted to stay behind. According to Roberts' map, they were to meet in a tavern in the middle of the town. Jones and Carine were thrilled at the prospect of going ashore and sampling the wares of the mainland, and Matthew and Carly were equally keen to tag along. "Your job," Melanie told them, "is to kill anyone else on the street that looks as though they are going to enter this tournament. I'll bail you out of jail."

Léogâne was a lovely and bustling little port town, even by Melanie's standards. Fortunately, like the majority of generic and lovely little port towns, Léogâne understood that it was easier – and far more profitable – to cater to the brigand culture than to try and eliminate it, royal fleet or no. Roberts' tavern of choice sat, surprisingly tall and polished, in the middle of this dark district. As it was barely evening, the lanterns outside had not yet been lit, and the tavern's sign was partially in shadow.

"The _Adjective Noun_ tavern?" Dana read as their troupe passed beneath it. She smiled to herself. "Roberts has taste. Unusual taste perhaps, but taste."

Inside, it was warm and bright with candlelight from the simple chandeliers and hanging lanterns. The tavern was spacious and all the more cozy for the dark wood of its floor, tables, and chairs. Stairs in the corner led both upwards and downwards: Melanie spied them going up and hoped for comfortable – and spacious – beds; Dana spied them going down and hoped for a refined – and spacious – wine cellar. In time, both women would be pleasantly presented with the affirmative.

For now, the most pressing thing on the collective mind of the crew of the _Dart _was not the _Adjective Noun's_ amenities, but the fact that the tavern was, for all intents and purposes, completely empty. In one corner, three rather fetching serving girls sat chatting and mending their skirts in their laps. And, in the center of the room, seated at a large round table with a single roll of parchment, a single quill, and a single glass of red wine, was a beaming Dread Pirate Roberts.

"My friends," he said. He stood as they approached, and his eyes were warm and smiling behind his black mask. "Welcome, welcome at last, to Léogâne and the QuatriPirate Tournament. I am so pleased to have you here." He shook hands with Melanie, Jack, Will, and Dana in turn, and Melanie bent to sign their team onto the Tournament list. "I wish to offer you the highest congratulations. You are the very first team out of the four to be arriving."

"The first team, and the second," the waif Carly said brightly.

Melanie paused in her writing, then straightened slowly. She turned to meet the merry eyes of her youngest crewwoman. "The second?" she asked, eyebrow arched.

"The second," Carly agreed.

Roberts was beside himself with excitement, "Half of the competition is already here!" and once more went down the line to congratulate and shake hands with the newly announced QuatriPirate competitors. Although Roberts continued to speak, citing honor and the glory of battle as two of the most important possessions a pirate could hope to obtain, his words fell on deaf ears.

The new competitors were utterly unconcerned with him and instead, were sizing up one another with new interest: Dana, with her arms folded, replied to the gunslinger Matthew's impish grin with her own sly smile; Melanie regarded the waif and her monkey with a slow nod; Carine waggled her eyebrows at Will, who swallowed hard; and Jack gave Jones a number of good-natured pats on the back.

"That's sporting of you, Jack," said Jones.

Jack tilted his head to one side. "M' not congratulating you, mate. I'm listening for how much punishment that liver of yours is going to be able to take, rattling about in you like that. And by the sound of it, things bode well for us."


	17. The Tournament Contenders

* * *

Chapter Seventeen – The Tournament Contenders

"A lady could get used to a life like this."

Jack smiled wordlessly in reply. The crew of the _Yellow Dart_, which evidently now comprised two eligible QuatriPirate Tournament teams, was currently relaxing and making full use of the hospitality of the _Adjective Noun_ in Léogâne. There, in the late and balmy afternoon, Jack's team was lounging in Melanie's assigned room in the _Adjective Noun_, which was on the topmost of the tavern's three floors and faced in the direction of the harbor from its place in the heart of the town. It was a pleasant location, close enough to the market that they might have gone to fetch a fresh breakfast coffee – if, of course, the tavern's service had not been so extraordinary – but it was far enough from the fleet-trawled dock that no pirate felt uncomfortable.

Melanie's room was of the highest quality, and it was immediately obvious that Roberts had spared no expense for the successful contenders of the fabled QuatriPirate Tournament. The gleaming furnishings were cut from the same dark wood as that of the tavern below, and the bed was large and plush. Will had sat carefully down on it first, testing the firmness, and Melanie had promptly stretched out beside him with her hands folded behind her head, obtaining her sought-after blacksmith-blush in record time. Dana had seated herself at the polished bureau and was methodically examining her holsters for wear and tear, and Jack had been gazing thoughtfully, if quietly, out the large window.

Melanie's comment had been in appreciation of the frosty bottle of wine and four glasses that a serving girl had presently delivered, courtesy of Jack, but at his quiet smile she laughed at him. "I am indeed a lady sir," she replied with mock gravity. "Just don't expect to lead on the dance floor." She removed her leather tricorn and flicked her sleeve dagger into her palm with a flourish, then set about removing the bottle's paper label and cork.

The four touched glasses together with a low _cheers_, and returned to their places to sip thoughtfully. The wine was very good. It was no _Chateau Latour_, but for a white wine, it was good enough that Melanie was willing to forgive Jack his past sins. Well, that sin in particular, anyway. In fact, thought Melanie, swirling her glass and taking another mouthful, as of late, Jack had been an uncommon gentleman. Ever since their arrival in Léogâne, he had been perfectly gracious: he had held doors open for herself and for Dana, had slid their chairs out for them at the lunch table and tucked them gently in, and had kept his wayward comments and roguish grins to a minimum. And now had come this excellent bottle of wine. Or more accurately, this excellent bottle of _expensive_ wine.

The mistress of the _Yellow Dart_ lowered her glass. "If I didn't know you any better, Jack," she said, "I would be suspicious of this sudden streak of good behavior. I'd be willing to bet that there is something from us that you want." She smiled. "Badly."

Jack Sparrow had the uncanny ability, among others, to appear absolutely blameless when he wished to. In Melanie's rather professional opinion, the trick was all in the slight furrow of his brow, the shining depth of his brown eyes, and the hesitating frown implied on his surprisingly sensual mouth. This was the way he looked now. "Love," he said, turning from the window. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Oh please," Melanie replied. "You knew that my crew was planning on entering the tournament, didn't you?"

Jack spread his hands. "That changes nothing."

"True," Melanie said. "But, even so, you've been unusually quiet. That makes me wonder." Jack did not speak. He regarded her steadily and occasionally drew a delicate sip from his wine glass. "I would hope," Melanie continued after a moment, "that your sudden stalwart character has nothing to do with the fact that one third of our competition has revealed itself to be our dear friends. I would _hope_," she sat up on the bed, "that you wouldn't try and convince us to do something unpleasant to my crewmembers, or to my own sister." She had not forgotten the fate of young Barton.

"All I can say," Jack said softly, "is that I cannot say what this tournament calls for. I have no idea what the events entail. And if the events should be to the death?" He pointed at Will. "Could you do it, Will? In your event, could you kill Carine Cash?"

Will looked affronted. "Of course I _could_," he answered. "But that doesn't mean that I ever _would_."

Jack nodded. "Exactly. That is exactly my point. And while I do not doubt that our friends will adhere to the same pigheadedly noble philosophy, it does not change the fact that we have arrived, rather unceremoniously, at something of an impasse." He drained the rest of his glass before he growled: "I did not come all this way for a draw."

"What would you have done differently, Jack?" asked Dana.

"I would have forbidden them from entering, love."

Melanie scoffed. "That's ridiculous. I couldn't do that. They have just as much of a right to enter the tournament as we do."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "And thus we all enter a tournament that no one can win."

"But this is foolish," said Will. "Who's to say that Roberts will call for us to fight to the death?"

"Restraint," Jack answered smoothly, "is not one of the myriad of admirable qualities that have allowed the four of us to be where we are today. There is no more sore loser than a pirate, Will, mark my words."

"And I suppose that's meant to include you?" The blacksmith was indignant.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and when Dana bid her enter, the serving girl that had brought them the wine opened the door and dropped into a curtsy. "Captain Roberts has asked that you join him for dinner," she said. "The other QuatriPirate Tournament teams have arrived."

Dana thanked her and the girl vanished. Dana stood. "Look," she said to Jack, "we can't forget about those other two teams, and should focus our energy on them instead of on arguing with each other. In the event that we face our friends in a death match, we decide how to cope with it then and there. But until that time…" she drew down the waist-line of her trousers, revealing the _P_ burned onto her skin. "I didn't become a pirate for nothing, and while I hate to agree with Jack, I certainly didn't come here for a draw either. So you can certainly stop worrying." The gunslinger-turned-pirate-yet-gunslinger looped her leather holster back into place, then smiled. "But do feel free to keep that wine coming."

* * *

If Will had had to choose a tavern in which to live out the rest of his days – _or the few remaining ones_, he thought to himself ruefully – the _Adjective Noun_ would have been at the top of the list. The hustle and bustle of the evening made the room seem somewhat larger, and yet the candlelight filled it with a warmth and intimacy that rivaled even the _Green Dragon_ in Port Royal, which was practically his home. The patrons were just as rough as the worst he had encountered in Tortuga, but perhaps it was Roberts' watchful eye and flashing blade that bade them behave: they knew in whose quarters they enjoyed themselves, and there was much deserving to be enjoyed. Will reminded himself to ask Jones later about what he thought of Roberts' establishment, though he supposed, not incorrectly, that the quality of the service he and his tournament-mates were receiving was in no small part due to their unspoken new titles as _very important persons_. He could not pass a serving girl or porter without a bashful curtsy or respectful nod.

The particularly large number of pirates this evening was no doubt due to the final arrival of the remaining QuatriPirate Tournament competitors. Will and his friends had already been in Léogâne for a night and were becoming slightly impatient, as evidenced by Jack's sudden introspective turn. The pirates that had gathered, though unable to compete themselves, were there to look on as the entirety of the competition was finally gathered in one place. With the exception of Roberts' polished dining table in the far corner of the room, there was not an empty seat left in the tavern.

Will was just as eager to meet the new pirates. He had keep his own council for the last while, having been deeply shaken when he realized that his immediate competition would be the vivacious Carine Cash, with whom he was very close, despite her incessant teasing and flirtation. If Carine was half as savvy with a blade as she was when it came to being a proprietor and hostess, Will knew that he would have his work cut out for him, regardless of how confident he knew he needed to appear in front of Jack. Though to be fair, he thought, seating himself between Dana and Melanie at the Roberts' long table, it was not only Jack that was salivating for the game to begin. The two dangerous creatures that masqueraded as fair ladies on either side of him, for example, had not slept since they arrived. Both were running on a combination of excitement and anxiety – and coffee, which Roberts had provided unsurprisingly and bountifully with the highest sense of judgment as to quality, as declared by Melanie. Though Will obviously knew Dana better than the mistress of the _Yellow Dart_, he could see that both were carrying about something well-concealed that was not fear, but was something akin to it: it was the dread of the as-yet unknown, or of that-which-one-could-not-measure-oneself-against.

Will knew this because their fear matched his own. Thinking back to that morning, in his smithy, when he had turned his back on his hammer and anvil to open his window to the smell of the sea, he never would have been able to imagine himself here, elbow to elbow with a rogue gunslinger and an infamous pirate captain, and the focus of a large room of coarse individuals who were all curious to learn why he had been proclaimed more brash and more a brigand – more a _pirate_ – than they. _And maybe,_ spoke up the ever-present whisper in the back of his mind, _just maybe, you are one of the best pirates of them all_.

Time would tell. For the moment, Will smiled as Carine, Matthew, Jones, and Carly settled themselves on the table's adjoining side to the sound of cheers and hoots from the mass of patrons. Milton sat in Carly's lap. He was barely tall enough for his shining black eyes to peep over the edge, but he politely refrained from sitting on the table: when one had to live as a monkey, Will thought, remembering Nick, how interesting that one would decide to retain their manners. _A capuchin with class_. He smiled at Milton, and despite having heard Carly's tale, he still jumped when Milton winked. Will supposed he always would.

After they were seated, Roberts stood and raised his hands for quiet. The room fell silent immediately, and the Dread Pirate beamed at everyone. "I thank you for coming to celebrate with us the final arrival of the QuatriPirate Tournament teams. At last, now, we can begin!" There was a cacophony of cheers and applause, but all Roberts needed to do was raise a hand, and it evaporated entirely. "You may or may not already know the rules of my house, but if you do not, I tell them to you again. No one dies here in my home." He cast a single dark look around the room. "Murderers will be found, do not doubt me friends, and there are fates much worse than death. You have been warned. _Y ahora_, that same rule now applies to these competitors you meet today – no competitor dies in this tournament, _amigos_, unless it is by the fault of his or her own wit or hand. We fight, we drink, and if we can scrape it, we _live_!"

The room erupted again, and Will glanced at Jack to see if his mind was now put at ease, but if it was, it did not show on his face. Jack was sitting quietly with his chin on his knuckle. He was waiting, Will knew, as were they all.

As if knowing this, the Dread Pirate Roberts raised his hand once again. "And now, I introduce to you your official QuatriPirate Tournament contenders – it is out of these pirates here that we will see legends born." He extended his hand to Jack's team. "Team One!" he cried. "To shoot – Dana Flint; to steal – Captain Melanie Cash; to fence – William Turner; and to drink – Captain Jack Sparrow!" The crowd cheered again and stamped its feet. Roberts moved his hand to present their fellow crewmen: "Team Two! To shoot – Matthew Hunter; to steal – Carly the Waif; to fence – Carine Cash; and to drink – and Jones Underhill!" The crowd roared their approval: it seemed that the apparent youth of Team Two made them very popular indeed, particularly Carly. She giggled, pleased.

Roberts continued. "I present the first of our newcomers!" Four men separated themselves from the general commotion of the crowd to stand behind the chairs on the side of the table opposite Carly and her teammates, and Will thought that he could not have imagined a more typical subsection of the piracy if he had tried. Roberts presented them: "To shoot – Billy O'Random!" Billy was a large man with a large belly and dark hair pulled back in an oily ponytail. "To steal – Tommy the Unimportant!" Their thief was a skinny, almost pointy, young man, who was all elbows and nose and chin. His eyes darted around the room. When he swallowed hard, his prominent Adam's apple bobbed. "To fence – Joe Something Something!" Will scrutinized his competition, almost pleased to see that Joe was a tanned, muscular young man, with a shaved, gleaming head and gold earrings in his ears. He wore only a simple vest over his bare chest, and flexed his – substantial – muscles for the cheering crowd. "And to drink, Billy's older brother – What's His Face, He's Got a Beard!" He did indeed have a beard. It was difficult to determine whether or not portly What's his face resembled his brother, because the dark mess of his beard took up the majority of his face. He grinned, exposing crooked yellow teeth, and pulled out the chair to take his seat. Will took in the four men as a team, as a unit, and thought it odd to see such different-looking characters grouped together. With the exception of the two brothers, Will wondered whether or not these men would even associate with one another outside of their current situation: they did not meet one another's eyes as they sat, nor did they speak to one another. Although, Will went on to think, it was not as though pirates were particularly social creatures ordinarily – there was much less profit in an enterprise for four as opposed to one. Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised to find a marriage of convenience in the legendary QuatriPirate Tournament.

Will jumped when Melanie burst into laughter beside him. Even in the racket of the room, her voice carried far across the table and into the gathered crowd of people. The din dimmed. Melanie continued to laugh, and rested her forehead in her hand as tears coursed down her cheeks. "You've got to be kidding me."

Behind his mask, Roberts raised an eyebrow. Across the table, the newly declared QuatriPirate Tournament contestants took their seats slowly. Their eyes were hard and they regarded the captain of the _Yellow Dart_ with bare hostility. Roberts cleared his throat.

"Captain Melanie Cash," he said. "Is there something wrong?"

She waved her hand at him, barely able to catch her breath. Behind her back, Dana and Will exchanged a quizzical look. "Oh please," she giggled. "These … these people are our competition? These _characters_? One of these guys is named _What's His Face_?" The so-named pirate cracked his massive knuckles and glowered, but Melanie was unfazed. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms with a large smile. "Come on, Roberts. How much more ridiculous can you get?"

"Ridiculous?" said Roberts. "You believe these adversaries are ridiculous?"

Melanie smirked. "I hardly believe that I'm going to be bested by a character whose surname makes a point to include the word _unimportant_. You tell me whether or not I should think he's ridiculous."

"My dear," the Dread Pirate said with the ghost of a smile. "If you seek the ridiculous, you have seen nothing yet. May I present now, the fourth and final team that has arrived to compete in the QuatriPirate Tournament!" Four men had been leaning in the shadows against the wall behind Roberts, and as they stepped into the rosy glow of the candlelight, the smile died on Melanie's face.

The first man was as blade-thin as Roberts himself, and, not unlike Roberts, he was dressed entirely in black: he wore a long sleeved black silk shirt beneath a black leather vest, and his black pants covered the tops of his worn black boots. The creak of the black leather holsters criss-crossing his hips made Dana sit up and take notice, but they were not the man's only noteworthy feature. Straight, jaw-length black hair curtained his angular face, and his eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. The entirety of the table was fascinated, not only by the man's cool silence, but by the unmistakably haughty confidence that he radiated as he took in his competition from behind his black glasses: it was only Jack who made a point to look away with a polite cough. "To shoot – Sheldon Sands!" The man called Sands took his seat silently across from Dana. He leaned back and folded his arms. The lady gunslinger stared unabashed.

The second man was much fairer than the first. He wore what might have been an officer's black hat with a flawless white plume, and a black cape was fastened with brass buttons onto the shoulders of his smart black coat. He was not wearing a uniform, not exactly, but the straight lines of his suit shoulders and the shine of his cufflinks spoke of a discipline all but unseen among the likes of those currently gracing Roberts' tavern. He, too, had a fine-boned face which fit like a mask – the man appeared to be utterly without expression, and only his mouth was slightly tightened in a frown, as though he was not impressed by what he was seeing. The man's eyes, however, were a brilliant blue, and stole from face to face briskly. Professionally. "To steal – James Bon – er, James Craig!" Melanie's eyes followed James as he took the seat opposite her, but he did not acknowledge her – he nodded curtly only to Sands, who greeted him with a brief lip-curving that was not exactly a smile.

The recognition of the third man brought a delighted grin to the faces of Dana and Will; Melanie and Jack, on the other hand, narrowed their eyes simultaneously. The blonde, tousle-haired young man before them was dressed now in a simple peasant's brown shirt and leggings, cinched at the waist by his belt and scabbard, but it was not difficult for them to reimagine his boyish face and charming blue eyes behind the black mask of the Dread Pirate Roberts: when Melanie and Jack had last seen him, he had been cheerfully deserting them on an island and making off with the _Yellow Dart_, but when Dana and Will had last seen him, they had convinced the dashing and articulate pirate to return home to his lady love. It was with obvious pleasure that the Dread Pirate Roberts introduced his good friend: "To fence – Westley, the farm boy!" Westley took his chair across from Will and stretched his hand across the table.

"I'm glad to see you again, Will!"

Will leaned forward and shook the proffered hand vigorously. "And I you!"

"Finally," Roberts cried, "the last of our competitors in the QuatriPirate Tournament, to drink – the infamous, Chazz Michael Michaels!" The final and evidently infamous man was tall with broad shoulders, and he ran a hand through his mane of dark hair to offer the crowd something between a smirk and a grin. He moved to take his seat, making the long tassels on his black leather vest swing. The red silk shirt beneath it was stretched taut across his chest as he sat down heavily, sprawled in his chair, directly across from Jack. He returned Jack's curious gaze with a sour look, but his expression changed immediately when he spied that a portion of his competition was attractive and female.

Ignoring Jack, Chazz leaned across the table to grin in Melanie's direction. "Hey there, sugar pie," he said huskily. "You lookin' to party with a real champion?" Melanie raised an eyebrow, but was spared the need to reply when Roberts lifted his hands to address the breathless and waiting crowd.

"My friends, I give you, the Quatripirate Tournament!"

In the resulting joyful hooting and clapping, Will gazed around the table at the collection of men and women that had been brought together in the name and celebration of piracy. So long ago, when he had learned both of his father's fate and his own blood-tie to the high sea, he never would have been able to see himself here, in this place, seated at this table of champions. _All champions wrought with pirate lore_ _are scoundrel's heart when cut in four_, he thought. _For friend or foe, for better or worse - _

_- let the games begin_.

* * *

Melanie hummed happily to herself from her position on the floor of her room. She was leaning against the wall beneath the open window and contentedly sharpening her boot-dagger. A cool breeze made her cream-coloured curtains lift and drop, and carried with it the gentle insect sounds that were only heard in the deepest night. It was very late – everyone that had been celebrating in the _Adjective Noun_ had long since surrendered to their beds, and the streets of Léogâne cleared much earlier than those in Tortuga, where even now, Melanie did not doubt that the taverns would still be opening new barrels of ale.

Every now and again, Melanie would pause in her meticulous work to take a sip from the open bottle beside her on the floor. She was doing her best to meet the weariness that the combination of the red wine she was drinking now and the rich food that Roberts had served earlier in the evening was weighing on her eyes, but she knew that would not be able to sleep even if she went to bed. Her body was complaining, and demanded rest, but her mind was too charged with the excitement of the tournament to allow it to relax. Even in the quiet sanctuary of her room, she could not help but feel as though she should keep on her guard. Roberts' rules of fair play, rather, of abstaining from murder, did little to ease her mind, and more than once she had considered abandoning the _Adjective Noun_ for the comfort – and safety – of the _Yellow Dart_. But she would not leave without her friends, and the entirety of their team could not leave without seeming conspicuous. So she sharpened. And she sipped.

Dinner had been delicious. Once again, Roberts had demonstrated both his generosity and good taste by treating them all to a meal fit for royalty. He had unveiled dish after dish of exotic and succulent flavour: flora and fauna from the far corners of the earth had graced their table, and all of the competitors had tucked in with relish. Melanie had rarely felt so pampered, and the impression of indulgence that she correctly assumed Roberts wished to demonstrate did little to put her naturally skeptical nature to rest – she had not reached her position by blindly accepting the kindness of strangers, particularly of pirates, and had in fact proven in the past that it was ordinarily more advantageous to play upon the good charity of others than passively consent to it.

She had no problem whatsoever with celebration, and affirmed this belief by taking another sip of the rich red wine, but she wanted to be particularly careful in the present company. The first teams to compete had been chosen after dinner: Roberts had pulled scraps of paper from an empty mug, and it was decided that Carly's team would face the still-offended team of Billy O'Random the next day. The following day, Melanie's team would compete against the team of Sands, James, Westley, and Chazz. The memory of Sands' team gave Melanie a pleasant little shiver: James the thief was handsome indeed. She would have to see what she could do about getting to know him better – or at least getting to know parts of him better – before the tournament ended. After all, following their match, there would be a brief rest of three days, and then the winning teams from both of the two matches would play against one another to declare the champions of the QuatriPirate Tournament. The idea still made Melanie smile to herself, and she caught her own reflection in the shine of her knife – in a mere five days she and her teammates would be crowned the victors. It was a happy thought.

A quiet knocking at the door made Melanie jump. She debated between her half-sharpened knife and her half-full bottle of wine for half a moment, then stood – wobbled – bottle in hand, thinking it odd that anyone was still awake. She was unsurprised, however, to see Dana waiting in the darkened hallway.

She nodded to the open bottle of wine in Dana's own hand. "Training hard, Flint? It's not even your event."

"Anyone can drink –" the gunslinger replied.

"– but not many can match my determination," they answered together. They both laughed, and knocked their bottles together. Melanie moved to the side so that Dana could come in, then closed and relocked her door.

Dana sat on the bed, a trifle unsteady, and raised her eyebrows. "A little concerned about visitors?"

Melanie returned to her place on the floor and resumed carefully sharpening her blade. "It helps me sleep better at night."

"It doesn't look like you're sleeping to me."

"Well, neither are you. What's keeping you awake?"

The gunslinger sighed and took a drink. "A lot of things, believe it or not. But there's only one that's making it impossible to sleep even with a nightcap such as this one. I've been thinking about what Jack said." Melanie lowered her knife and sharpening stone.

"What do you mean?"

"I know that I gave him the answer that he was looking for – and I know that the way the events have fallen into place, there is no guarantee that we will even have to face our friends, and I know that they can't be killed if we do – but I can't help but feel a little worried." She eyed Melanie. "I'm not nervous, understand. I know that I'm going to win my event."

Melanie smiled. "Could it be that the stone gunslinger has a heart after all?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It's just very very small and often elusive." She tipped the brim of her hat. "All the better for business, madam."

"Well, you're in a new business now, friend. Piracy is something very different."

"Oh?"

Melanie nodded. She leaned her head against the wall and took a long drink from her bottle. Her eyes were distant, dreamy, and prompted Dana to ask: "What made you a pirate, Melanie? The loyalty you have to the _Dart_, the pride you have in your name – I'm willing to bet that's an uncommon stubbornness, even for a thief and a scoundrel." They both toasted the last word.

"That," Melanie replied, "is something of a long tale, much too lengthy and fantastic for a night as late as this one has already become."

"Fair enough," said Dana. "But I'd like to know one day."

Melanie toasted her again. "And so one day you shall."

"It's odd, though. I feel both as if I know you and as if I don't. Sailing with you, agreeing to fight beside you, submitting to _polish your damned figurehead_ … but I know next to nothing about you." Dana regarded Melanie with eyes red from acquaintance with wine and neglect of bed. "This may be my elusive heart speaking once again, but that's almost a shame."

"I might say the same for you, oh lady-of-the-low-hat-brim. You saved my life once, and I won't forget that."

Dana laughed, mid-mouthful. "That's right! That damned clown."

"Yes. But besides that, I like the fact that you remind me of myself. You work hard, and you play harder."

"Well, then. Maybe this whole pirate brand business wasn't the worst of ideas."

"You have a lot to learn about that brand, Flint, but I think you're starting off on the right track." Melanie sipped again, and then her face lit up as an idea bobbed to the top of her rather doused mind. "I know what we should do!"

Dana blinked. "What's that?"

"Tomorrow night, after the events, you and I ought to go for a night on the town. Just the two of us. We'll go find some fun and get to know one another better." Melanie smiled. "It's all the better for business, really. If I'm going to be associating with the future champion of all pirate sharpshooters, it's important that I'm not always looking over my shoulder for you or for your stray bullets."

Dana nodded. "And being partners with the future most notorious pirate thief only works when I know that I don't have to keep an eye on my purse. It's a date."

"Partners?"

"Friends."

The two knocked bottles again before draining them. Dana left, and Melanie changed and slipped into bed. Sleep came then for the mistress of the _Yellow Dart_ with unsurprising swiftness – it is, after all, a great comfort to be an ally, and a greater comfort to have one in return.


	18. Round One

Chapter Eighteen – Round One

The first day of competitive QuatriPirate Tournament events dawned fair and bright. Roberts well understood the timely functioning of pirates, and had not been so foolish as to require that the competitors wake for breakfast. Instead, he had ensured that a hearty meal was spread at his table for them when they descended from their rooms in the early afternoon. Outside, the day was beautiful. The sun was a dazzling jewel in a sapphire sky untarnished by cloud, and the heat was strong but not overly powerful. There was no wind. Despite Roberts' assurance over lunch that none of the general and non-pirate populace in the port town was aware of the undertaking of this great event, it was almost as though Léogâne had grown quiet and watchful in the presence of legend-making.

Even in spite of the extra time that Roberts had been careful to give them, some of these future legends were more in the mood for competition than others. Melanie and Dana had dawned fair, but certainly not bright. During lunch, they had eschewed the offering of colorful fruits and sizzling meat in favor of deep mugs of dark coffee. They sat side by side, slumped and yawning at the large table, while all around them members of their team and others ate and made what passed for polite conversation among pirates. Both women were time and time again made glad of Roberts' rule for peace, or else several competitors might not have survived the meal.

While Will and Westley sat making good-natured conversation in one corner – evidently Westley and Buttercup were to be married soon, and the farm boy thought the title _Greatest Pirate Swordsman in the World_ a fitting wedding gift – the brothers Billy O'Random and What's his face, he's got a beard, sat wolfing bacon and doing their best to leer at Matthew and Jones. The two younger men exchanged amused looks. Sands, all in black, was smoking silently, a roll of tobacco between his gloved fingers, and the rather dashing James was carefully slicing an orange and regarding the fidgeting Tommy the Unimportant with clear disdain. Chazz had slapped a serving girl on the bottom and was complaining because now none of them would serve him coffee. Joe Something Something leaned across the table to where Carly was feeding Milton pineapple slices, and offered her a small fortune for her 'happy little ape'. The waif's face darkened, and the tanned swordsman retreated hastily when she made a point to take up the silver knife on the table and chop her fruit with unnecessary speed and force.

Melanie, too tired to even attempt catching the eye of the handsome James, motioned the serving girl over to refill hers and Dana's mugs as lunch ended and the mass exodus from the _Adjective Noun_ began. When one of Roberts' serving girls made as if to ask them to leave the mugs behind with the rest of the dishes, Dana halted her with a black look. "You know where we live," she said as politely as she could manage, and they took their mugs with them to the street.

It appeared that these events were to have an impressive audience. Were she in a mood to ponder anything apart from the supreme effort it was taking to remain awake and alert, Melanie might have wondered how much money it had taken to allay the attention their activities might have drawn from the royal guard. As it was, however, Melanie could only smile to herself. _Here I am at one of the most important events in recent history_, she thought with a yawn. _And all I want is a nap._

As they strolled along the relatively empty street in the company of the dread pirate, the large and powerfully-cologned Chazz fell into step beside Melanie and Dana. "Ladies," he said. "Well met. Well met, indeed."

Melanie took a sip from her mug of coffee. "I'd like to ask you a question," she said.

"By all means," Chazz said. He opened his arms. "I am an open book."

"That's interesting, because you don't exactly look like the type that knows how to read."

Chazz tossed his mane of hair. "Certain things in life just can't be explained, you know … with words."

"I'm sure they can't. But I wanted to ask you whether or not you had any real idea of what it's like to be with a lady-pirate in bed." Chazz smiled hugely, clearly not able to believe his good fortune, but nodded sedately in an attempt to keep his composure.

"That might just be why I'm here." He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "There's a first time for everything, but hopefully never a last time."

Without pausing in the motion of bringing her coffee mug to her mouth, Melanie gave her other wrist the barest twist. She flipped her little dagger as it was deposited into her palm, and bopped an abruptly pale Chazz on the nose with the blunt end. "We're awfully sharp," she finished. Without another word, Chazz moved off, and Dana and Melanie tapped their mugs together. Sometimes one was more in the mood for a quiet afternoon.

Roberts led their troupe through the streets and in the direction of the harbor. With the royal fleet still keeping a careful watch on the waters closest to the mainland, there were not many ships docked. Melanie saw that the _Yellow Dart_ rode the slight swells grandly, and that the hole Dana had blown in the hull had been repaired flawlessly. Dana caught her looking.

"You'll be back on the _Dart_ soon enough, but do you mind if we write ourselves into legend first?"

"I guess we might as well, while we're here."

Roberts halted before a lone dock, one that was fairly removed from the main hub of the harbor, and that extended rather haphazardly out into the water. It was no wonder that there was no ship moored there – the dock was thin and rickety and looked as though it were about to collapse at any moment. At the far end of it, two rectangular pieces of wood were propped up side by side. Roberts took a few steps onto the dock before turning to address the group of pirates. He produced a tightly rolled parchment, unfurled it, and consulted it before raising his voice.

"We begin here with the first of the events – the shooting! May I please have the two competitors step forward." Matthew went and stood on one side of Roberts, and Billy O'Random stood on the other. The dock swayed on its legs slightly.

Roberts grinned behind his black mask. "The fact is," he cried, "that you may find that some of these are events are very short and over very quickly, with no room for error. Some of these events may seek to claim your life. This should not surprise you. You are pirates, friends, and pirates live in the moment where one mistake can mean death, or worse, the loss of a profit!" There was general laughter amongst everyone.

"May I have two volunteers, please?" When no one raised their hands, Melanie and Dana stepped forward.

"Anything to get this game going," Melanie said.

Roberts tut-tutted. "Dear Captain Cash, this is no game. This is a very serious undertaking indeed. If you wouldn't mind going to stand with your backs to the wood at the end of the dock?" Melanie and Dana set their coffee cups on the ground and obliged. They stepped gingerly across the old wooden planks, and stood against the wood to face the pirates, side by side.

"Now," Roberts continued loudly, so that Melanie and Dana could hear. "Gentlemen. Your challenge is to be the first one to fire through the wood, _around_ the ladies, and complete an outlined portrait that will fall backwards into the water when it is complete." He narrowed his eyes. "I remind you that you are disqualified if you kill these women."

"Never mind that," Jack shouted. He elbowed his way to the front of the pirates and suddenly unsheathed his sword. Roberts moved to protest, but Will raised his hand to stop him. Jack angled the tip of his sword against Billy's beefy neck. His eyes flashed. "If you _touch_ them," Jack said between his teeth. "You'll have us to answer to. And there are fates worse than disqualification, mate. You had better hope that you're savvy." Billy narrowed his eyes at Jack, but swallowed. He was savvy. Jack returned to his place, but did not soften his hard look. He was watching with deadly seriousness.

Roberts continued. "Turn, gentlemen, and take ten paces towards your targets." Matthew and Billy turned and took their paces. They walked just as carefully as Dana and Melanie had, and Billy's weight on the dock caused the wood to start to groan. The men exchanged looks – neither wanted to spoil the day by falling into the water and wetting their gun powder. They inched forward together, and halted, elbow to elbow.

At the end of the dock, Dana looked over her shoulder at Melanie. "What do you think Matthew thinks about firing at his captain?"

Melanie laughed. "I think that he's glad right about now that he's a crack shot." Indeed, Matthew did not look nearly as nervous as Billy, but then again, he did not have the dire warning of an irate Jack Sparrow hanging over his head.

"Unholster your weapons, gentlemen, and start on my mark," said Roberts. The two men pulled their pistols from their holsters, and both prepared additional shot in their opposite hand.

"Ready!" Dana and Melanie leaned back and folded their arms.

"Aim!" Billy and Matthew raised their pistols.

"Fire!"

There was a crack as both men fired, and the wood to the side of each woman exploded in a cloud of splinters as the bullet passed through. Dana and Melanie squinted to avoid the sawdust. Neither flinched as the bullets began to whine past their ears.

Billy and Matthew were both reloading and firing almost immediately, but after a dozen or so shots, it was clear that Matthew was edging into the lead. When this became obvious, instead of simply maintaining his advantage, Matthew made it apparent that he not only desired to beat Billy, but that he wanted to crush him absolutely. Melanie no longer had a need to warn Dana of her first-mate's overdeveloped sense of competition – they were witnessing it firsthand.

Now, Matthew's every second shot was not directed at firing out the portrait around his captain. Rather, he fell into his competition's firing pace. Matthew waited for half a moment in order to fire when Billy did, and _aimed his bullets to knock Billy's away from Dana and out over the water_. All of this happened very fast and Billy hardly noticed that it was happening. Dana, however, could not help but realize that Matthew's every second shot was, in effect, directed squarely at her, though his bullet always connected with Billy's.

It was not long before the wood behind Melanie fell into the harbor with a splash, and the event was over with Matthew as the obvious victor. The pirate crowd was cheering loudly, and when Dana stepped away from the wood she had been leaning against, she was unsurprised to see that her portrait was barely half complete. Billy's bullets had only connected with their target half of the time, which meant, in turn, that Matthew had been firing at her half of the time. She frowned.

Amidst the applause, Dana and Melanie made their careful way back across the wobbly dock. Billy was holstering his gun angrily, and Matthew was in the middle of being congratulated and patted on the back by a several hands. Dana tapped him on the shoulder. He turned to her and smiled. She smiled back.

And punched him squarely in the face.

* * *

The second event of the day was essentially over before it began. The thieves Carly and Tommy the Unimportant were brought to Léogâne's central plaza to demonstrate their skill. As the heart of the port town, the plaza was much busier and much more crowded than the docks had been. Although it was not a market day, it was a rather novel occasion and several vendors had their wares displayed on carts and in makeshift booths: today was the day that a visiting dignitary couple was touring Léogâne with the governor and the governess. The couple was extravagantly bejeweled and wrapped in colourful silks and finery. They were making a point to meet the citizens, but were under the watchful eye of the red-coated guard.

While Roberts, the pirates, and a bloody-nosed Matthew carefully dispersed themselves through the crowd to watch from a distance, Carly and Tommy disappeared into the throng of people. According to Roberts' parchment, their instructions were to steal from the dignitaries a single item of great value, and whomever returned with the most valuable item would be declared the winner.

As a thief, however, it was difficult, if not simply impossible, to compete with one such as Carly the waif. While the spidery, fidgety Tommy skulked around the edges of the crowd, trying to decide on the best approach, Carly simply donned her most winsome smile and made straight for where the dignitaries were shaking hands with the peasants they met in the market. Far from worrying about her as competition, Melanie could not have been prouder: Carly promptly joined the line of people waiting to meet with the sparkling man and woman, and attached herself quietly to the skirt-tails of a plump, matronly woman wearing a kerchief who might have been her mother. The dignitaries were more than happy to oblige to a word with such an adorable youth and her well-behaved capuchin friend. Carly shook hands with both of them, and turned and skipped back to where Roberts was waiting and beaming.

Tommy had little chance. A man more suited to the label of _lurker_ and _skulker_ had not yet been born. The first time he attempted to approach the couple, two of the guards spotted him immediately and he had to retreat away behind the dignitaries. After that, he could not escape their eyes, and had to return to Roberts, crestfallen. All he had been able to snatch was an embroidered handkerchief from the man's back pocket on his first pass. Carly, on the other hand, produced the woman's diamond-encrusted wedding ring, and the second event was over.

For the third and fourth events, Roberts led the pirates back to the safety of the _Adjective Noun_. Upon their return, they noticed that the tables and chairs in the tavern had all been pushed aside to make room for a raised dais, or platform stage. Standing on the stage and waiting with polite smiles were two beautiful young women from Singapore. They might have been twins – they were dressed in identical blue silk dresses, and their lustrous black hair hung in a plait down each of their backs. When Roberts entered, he bowed to them graciously, but did not introduce them immediately to the crowd. While they stood and smiled, Roberts turned to draw the attention of his audience to the other side of the room.

"This may seem slightly strange," Roberts announced, unfurling the event parchment and scanning its contents, "but our third and fourth events will be held simultaneously. After all, any sailor here worth his or her salt knows that drinking is nothing if not a test of endurance, am I correct?" The crowd cheered, and renewed their cheers as several serving girls flitted in and amongst the pirates, providing wine and ale. Melanie and Dana quickly traded their coffee mugs for wine glasses, and even Will found a mug of frothy beer placed in his hands. He sampled it carefully, not forgetting how easily it went to his head. Jack produced a bottle of rum from the folds of his jacket, and removed the cork with his teeth. All four of them enjoyed relaxing temporarily to be spectators, and knew that their own turn would come soon enough.

In the opposite corner of the room, away from the raised and lit stage, there was a smaller platform. On it were two large wooden barrels, one slightly smaller than the other, both sealed with pitch and completely leak-proof. There were several open barrels of ale on the platform as well, and two stools beside the large barrels. When Roberts leapt nimbly up onto the platform, Melanie realized, with a sly smile, that the large barrels were both man-sized. Roberts snapped his fingers, and two of the serving girls joined him onstage.

"May I have Jones and What's his face, please?"

Jones and the bearded man made their way to the platform and examined the barrels with interest. "Yes," Roberts said. "Have an excellent look, although you will become very acquainted with these barrels quite soon, gentlemen. In a moment, you will be sealed inside." Both men paused.

"Do not fear," said Roberts, "for you will not be alone. No, you will keep company with the finest red ale that Léogâne has to offer! Ladies, please." The two serving girls began to fill the large barrels with ale while Roberts continued. "Gentlemen, your goal in this event is to drink, as I know you would not have it any other way. You will, however, be sealed inside a barrel with enough ale to drown you. Avoid death by drinking down the ale, but be warned." Roberts raised a gloved finger, and produced a tiny sand-filled hourglass. "Every two minutes, these ladies will add another pint to your barrel. It is not enough to drink the level down so that you can breathe. You must continue to drink in order to win, and the man with the lowest level in accordance with his size will win. This event will halt when the sword-fighting halts, and so you might encourage your teammates not to dally." Jones smiled at Carine, and she winked.

At Roberts' word, both Jones and What's his face climbed into their respective barrels. Melanie leaned over to speak quietly in Will's ear. "Is he going to be all right?"

Will nodded. "If he wasn't, he wouldn't be here. Jones owns the _Green Dragon_, don't forget. He can put away more drink than most I've seen."

The crowd hooted and stomped as the level of the ale closed over each man's head and the tops of the barrels were fastened on. Billy cheered loudly for his brother as the hourglass was flipped, and the fourth event began. Melanie silently wished Jones luck – and thirst – as Roberts abandoned the barreled men and returned their attention to the other side of the room and the lit platform where the lovely women stood waiting.

"May I present to you, Xin and Lei." The women bowed again, this time to the appreciative crowd. Many continued to applaud for the women's short dresses and shapely legs, but it was not a few that noted the scabbards fixed to each woman's hip. "These women are very well-known in Singapore, their home, and they have traveled here today as a favor to me to help assist in this third event. May I have Carine and Joe join us on the stage please?"

Tanned and bulging with muscle, Joe Something Something leapt onto the platform. He flexed his arms for the crowd as Carine gathered her long layered skirts and stepped more gingerly onto the stage. Upon seeing her as his direct competition, Joe rolled his eyes. He caught the eye of his teammate Billy in the gathered audience and made a lewd gesture, which started the main body of the audience cat-calling and wolf-whistling. Carine smiled slightly, unembarrassed.

It was Will's turn to lean and speak into Melanie's ear. "Is _she_ going to be all right?"

"I am considering lashing you for even thinking otherwise," Melanie replied good-naturedly. "I told Jack once that there's not a man alive who can beat a Cash with a blade. Pay attention, blacksmith, because you have the privilege of going next." Carine spied Will watching, and blew him a kiss. To avoid her seeing that he had turned slightly pink, he took another sip of ale, and felt the flush of drink rise to his cheeks anyway.

Roberts raised his hands for quiet. He stepped to the edge of the stage and encouraged Carine and Joe to do the same. Then, he spoke softly to the women in their own language, and they obligingly unsheathed their swords and began.

It was like watching the most elegant of courtly dances. The women fenced once another, crossing blades, stepping to forward to parry and backwards to defend. One woman would turn, catching her opponent's blade with her own before it could connect with her throat, and the other would step to the side to avoid a pointed attack at her midsection. There were steps to this deadly waltz: as Carine watched intently, the two masters finished their routine and immediately began the same display again, faster. Melanie glanced from the fluid motions of the women to her sister's rapt concentration, and then to Joe.

Joe was not paying attention. He was winking at Billy, who was guffawing in the audience. It was clear that Joe, onstage with three attractive women, regarded himself as the best swordsman by virtue of being the only man. When he did turn back to watch Xin and Lei, Melanie could see that it was not their blades that caught his attention, but the flashes of calf and thigh as the women's silken skirts whirled out and up in time with their movements.

Three times the women performed their blade dance, and the third time was so fast and Melanie could barely follow one sword, let alone two. When the women were finished, they bowed to the audience, which exploded into applause and whistles.

Roberts was clapping the loudest himself. "Absolutely lovely, ladies. Thank you very much. And now, for our competitors." He smiled at Joe and Carine. "If you would claim to _know well the blade's bright shine_, your task is this." A serving girl in the audience passed up two wooden training swords and Roberts gave one to Carine and one to Joe. "Replicate this battle with these wooden swords." Joe hefted the light wood in his hand and smirked.

"You will not, however, be facing one another. Joe, you will take the place of Lei and face Xin. Carine, you will take the place of Xin and face Lei." It was Roberts' turn to smirk as Joe's face paled and the tan swordsman reevaluated the training sword in his hand. "Xin and Lei will _not_ be using wooden swords. Ladies, if you would." In perfect unison, the two women plucked a hair from their heads and dropped them onto their gleaming blades. In the sudden silence of the room, the dark hairs drifted down onto the stage, each neatly divided in two. "Replicate this battle," Roberts repeated. "A mistake means death. Complete it successfully three times, and you may use your own blade to battle in a manner of your own choosing. Are you ready?"

Roberts stepped off the stage as the two pairs each found a space large enough to fence in. Carine smiled at Lei and bowed respectfully, and Lei returned the gesture. Joe did not acknowledge Xin has he took his place before her. He had started to sweat, and the beads glimmered on his polished bald head.

"Begin!" Roberts barked.

The blade dance began again, this time in double. Melanie smiled immediately, and found it difficult to take her eyes off of her sister: Carine was almost merry as she crossed and recrossed swords with Lei, stepping and ducking easily, and turning to meet the singing steel blade with the flat surface of her mock-sword. Her eyes sparkled, and she matched Lei's rhythm with a grace and ease that put the watchful Will in mind of a ballet dancer. His cheeks had flushed again, and he did not think it was because of the ale – this was the creature that stood between him and his victory as the greatest swordsman of his generation. He decided that he might need another drink after all.

Things were not going so well for Joe. He was sweating profusely now, and as the second round of the battle began, it was quickly becoming obvious that Joe was simply squeaking by on his natural reflexes. He was not engaged in the blade-dance at all: he was simply meeting Xin's sword more and more defensively and more and more desperately.

The dances ended rather unexpectedly when two things happened at nearly the same moment. The first thing was that Carine, focused now and matching Lei slice for slice, suddenly and neatly disarmed her opponent. Neither woman had the chance even to register her surprise, because the second thing happened as a result of the abrupt clatter of Lei's sword falling to the floor: distracted momentarily from his frantic battle, Joe was tidily run through. Xin jerked her sword back as soon as she realized Joe's mistake, but the damage had already been done. With both hands pressed to the stream of scarlet jetting from his abdomen, Joe fell to his knees, and then forward onto his face, dead. The third event was over.

Amidst the noise of celebration, Roberts raised a hand in the direction of the barrels containing Jones and What's his face on the other side of the room. The serving girls there halted their pouring of ale. On the stage with Roberts, Carine beamed and bowed again to Xin and Lei, who were both regarding her with something like awe. Lei spoke to Roberts, who grinned and translated for Carine.

"Lei says that you are welcome to return with them to Singapore to train. You would be a welcome addition to their school."

Carine smiled and shook Lei's hand. "Thank'ee love, but do tell 'er she's just as welcome t' come an' perform at th' _Poco_. Methinks a pr'duction like tha' would fetch an impressive audience!" The crowd laughed and cheered as Roberts translated obligingly, and the troupe of pirates moved to transport their noisy attention to where the fourth event had been ongoing. The late Joe something something was abandoned and unmourned, and only Will looked over his shoulder at the still figure lying facedown in a growing pool of his own blood.

Jack clapped Will on the back. "Sometimes it takes a sight like that to remind one of the stakes, eh?" Will nodded wordlessly and shuddered. Roberts had been speaking the truth – this was no game.

On the other side of the room, Roberts was removing the tops of the barrels. The crowd kept up its cheering, and renewed the noise when a thoroughly soaked but smiling Jones emerged from his barrel. His eyes were red and he could barely remain standing on two feet. He had obviously done well. Roberts lifted the lid from the other barrel, but the applause died away when Roberts' brow furrowed. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his black sleeve to stick his hand into the ale. He frowned. "What's his face has drowned. The winner is Jones!"

Only Billy's cry marred the singularly powerful cheer of the crowd for the victory of the little bartender. They lifted him to their shoulders to properly begin their night of celebration. As they did so, the enormous Billy O'Random leapt forward and hauled the limp body of his brother out of the barrel of ale, splashing everyone close by. The big man's sobs were loud, but they were lost in the noise of the party that had grown following the completion of the first round of the QuatriPirate Tournament.

Frowning, Jack stepped up onto the dais. He plucked a mug from the table and dunked it deep into What's his face's barrel. He then drained the mug and smacked his lips. "Just as I suspected," he said. "I'm not a fan of red ale."

* * *

The _Adjective Noun_ was a celebratory madhouse. The tables and chairs had all been replaced, and once Joe's blood had been – mostly – mopped up from the platform, an impromptu little band had taken advantage of the stage and started to play. Roberts' serving girls were kept busy scurrying from table to table with food and drink, and amidst the roar of conversation and laughter, the evening had barely begun.

Dana was sitting at a table against the wall with Jack and Will. They had just finished dinner and were comparing notes based on the competition that they had seen. Every now and again, a pirate would pass their table and offer them a grin, or a handshake, or an encouraging word. After the showing of the day, everyone was in high anticipation of the next round of events - two men had died competing, after all, and so what better encouragement did the audience need to attend than that?

Melanie emerged from the crowd. She had changed her clothes, and Jack whistled. As opposed to her usual captain's garb, she was now wearing a cream-coloured dress cinched at the waist with a green sash, and her straight dark hair was free and loose over her shoulders. Dana had tidied herself up as well, and had come down to dinner wearing dark flared trousers and a black shirt. She had not relinquished her hat, however.

Dana smiled at Melanie. "I like it."

"So we're still going out?"

The gunslinger stood. "We sure are."

Jack and Will looked surprised. "And where are we going tonight, ladies?" Jack inquired.

Melanie plucked Jack's glass of water from the table and took a sip of it. "We're going on a ladies night, gents. Sorry, but no boys allowed."

At that moment, the crowd surged and Melanie was jolted from behind. The glass of water flew out of her hands and Dana leapt backwards to avoid being doused. Both women looked at the glass lying in the sawdust on the ground, and then at one another. They exploded into laughter. "That," said Melanie, "could have been bad. Who knows what it might have started?"

With that, the women bid their teammates farewell and exited through the throng of pirates surrounding the bar. Watching them leave, Will turned to Jack. "Knowing about the adventures and calamities that happen to us when we are simply minding our own business," he said with a shake of his head, "can you imagine what's in store for those two ladies when they go _looking_ for trouble?"


	19. Ladies' Night at the Bordello

Chapter Nineteen – Ladies' Night at the _Bordello de Minuit_

In the natural world, it is not surprising to consistently find certain creatures in the context of the specific environments that suit them best. Clown fish, for example, hide safely amongst poisonous sea anemones, and hares change the color of their fur from brown to white to suit the season. But not all animals use their environments to hide. Several animals use their environments instead to showcase and display their colors, such as the brilliant blue hues of the male peacock against lawns and trees of green. Similarly, there was one environment in which creatures such as Dana and Melanie were most adapted to display their colors, and as predicted, it was not surprising to find them in it. Dana and Melanie had dressed up and left the _Adjective Noun_ tavern behind in order to find … another tavern.

Deep in the darkest and most dangerous district of Léogâne, Dana and Melanie had sought out the seediest drinking hole that they could find, and had inserted themselves squarely into the center of it. The tavern was tiny and black, and ordinarily barely lit by candlelight. Its name was the _Wailing Widow_. Dana and Melanie and stumbled upon it by accident as they were strolling by and passing a bottle of wine filched from the _Adjective Noun_ back and forth. The cracked glass of the dingy windows had called to them, and when they opened the door to see only a handful of dark slumped figures at the bar, they knew they had found what they were looking for – quiet and temporary anonymity.

At least, that's how things had started out at the _Wailing Widow_. Dana and Melanie, wanting to begin their evening with a quiet drink and some low conversation, soon found themselves as the focus of a number of gruff but well-meaning admirers. Word had spread quickly about the presence of two potential QuatriPirate Tournament champions in the area – that, and the fact that they were female and attractive – and so large numbers of pirates flocked unabashedly to the tavern. Suddenly, the ordinarily dark and depressing pub was blazing with light and laughter with Dana and Melanie at its heart. The two were delighted to throw back shots of rum with grizzled old sailors and to arm-wrestle with handsome young deckhands. Brimming mugs and glasses were passed to them across and down the bar, and when the women found themselves unable to keep up with the tide, they endeared themselves even more securely to their men by passing on the generosity and sharing their bounty.

There were benefits to being the focus of such undivided attention. On one occasion, and one only, a particularly uncouth young man managed to make his way through the throng and to Melanie's side. He put his arm around her shoulders in seeming good-nature, as more than one of the other fellows had done, but this young man had intentions other than the honorable. In the chaos of the celebration, he let his hand stray low and his fingers made as if to grasp a rather personal area, unannounced and uninvited.

All Melanie needed to do was glance down at the offending hand, and the problem was speedily resolved. Two large and older men seized the ill-mannered youth and hauled him violently outside before his fingers could reach their goal. Even over the din that had enveloped the little tavern, Dana and Melanie could clearly hear the sounds of his intense lesson in etiquette.

Dana and Melanie broke a number of hearts when they decided to leave the _Wailing Widow_ and seek their fortunes elsewhere, but the night was young and they had planned on seeing more of Léogâne before the dawn returned and they were once more responsible to their teammates. Had they wished it, there were men enough for no fewer than three crews of loyal sailors that they had won that night. They apologized profusely and bid goodbye to the acquaintances that they had made, and promised to return soon for a tale and a drink, on the condition, of course, that the tale was of their victory, and the drink was a toast to their crowning as champions.

Walking with relative steadiness, the two women linked arms and sauntered down the street. Neither was concerned that thieves or violence would emerge from the dark – they weren't armed, but remained secure in the knowledge that they were both much more dangerous than anything that might dwell in the shadows. The cool breeze was sobering, which was a positive thing, because it meant that they could renew their efforts at whichever stop would be their next one. They headed in the direction of the market.

The market at night was an entirely different place. Even though Léogâne lacked the singularly pointed teeth of the Tortugan night, the vendors and wares and colors of the plaza had all changed to suit the darkness. Melanie and Dana strolled along side by side, exclaiming over expensive scarves and sparkling baubles. Several vendors were selling pipe-weed – "Look!" Dana exclaimed. "Authentic Old Toby!" – and more than one whispered the virtues of their love elixirs in the ladies' ears. An elderly man from Portugal had traded the women a glass of port each in return for a kiss on the cheek, and they sipped the cloying drink slowly as they walked and browsed.

In the smoky light of the oil lanterns they came upon a rather odd-looking man who had set up a table amidst the other vendors along the side of the road. He was extravagantly dressed in a tailored black suit and long black coat, and a crimson silk scarf was knotted at his throat. He spied the ladies when they were still a distance away, and waved them over.

"Good evening, ladies, good evening." His accent was thick, and difficult to place, but he was exceedingly handsome. His table was covered with little bottles of lotion and glass jars of cream. "Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "My name is Ferdinand. I run a very special business and I have a very special offer for you." He waved his hand over the wares on his table, and Melanie was about to issue the same polite decline that she had repeated to all of the more aggressive vendors that evening, when the man continued.

"I work for the foremost health and beauty spa in Léogâne. We provide many services – skin treatments and hair styling and more." He smiled winningly at them. "Now two beautiful ladies such as yourselves clearly have no need for either skin or hair improvements, that much is obvious, but that is not the reason that I have called you aside." He leaned forward over his table. "We have recently had a new pair of masseuses join our spa team, and we would like some attractive women to experience their services."

Dana regarded the man from under the low brim of her hat. "And why is that?"

The man shrugged, slightly sheepish. "Tell me, madam, what better advertisement can we have for our spa than the praises of a beautiful woman? Women see you, they learn that you love our spa, and they realize that they will love our spa also. They must."

"All right," Dana said. "We're intrigued. How much does the massage cost?"

"Oh my dears," the man said. "The massage for you is absolutely and completely free. As I said, I want you to sing the praises of our spa." He smiled in the low lantern light, and his teeth were very white. "And believe me, ladies, you will sing its praises." The two women exchanged looks. They shrugged.

"Why not," Melanie said. "We could do with some pampering."

"Excellent!" Ferdinand cried. "Most excellent! Please, at your leisure, proceed to our spa at the end of this street, Rue Francine. Tell them that Ferdinand sent you, and I assure you that you will be treated like true royalty."

So Dana and Melanie continued on, now with a definite direction in which to point themselves. They were both completely sober and fully enjoying the offerings of the early night. The song of crickets mingled with the notes of music that escaped the windows they passed, and everywhere it seemed that people were celebrating or enjoying themselves.

When they rounded the corner of Rue Francine and came into full view of the spa, they were slightly taken aback by what they saw. They had envisioned a tiny place, an intimate little hovel, perhaps, stocked with perfumed soap. What they saw instead was a huge sprawling house, tastefully maintained – tasteful, of course, often being synonymous with expensive – with a carefully manicured front lawn and iron gate. It put Melanie in mind of the lovely home of the governor and governess from whom she had liberated the precious bottle of _Chateau Latour_, and she wondered if perhaps they weren't at the wrong address.

There was a uniformed man standing beside the open gate, however, and Dana looked at Melanie. "Do you think this is the place?"

She shrugged. "There's really only one way to find out." She walked up to the guard and smiled at him. "Hello. We're here for the spa? Ferdinand sent us."

"Ferdinand?" the guard smiled at both women. "Please, this way." He led them across the front lawn and towards the main door. In the dim of the night, neither pirate noticed the sign above the door as they passed through it. In elegant script were written the words, _Bordello de Minuit_.

The main foyer of the building was sparsely decorated but quite lovely. The floors were polished marble, and the curving staircases were carved from dark wood. Dana and Melanie stood to one side in open admiration. A moment later, a stocky, matronly woman in an apron descended the stairs. "Did I hear that Ferdinand sent you, ladies?"

Melanie smiled up at her. "He certainly did."

The woman returned her smile. "Then please, follow me. Our masseuse team hasn't had a very exciting night, and they'll be happy to see you."

Dana and Melanie followed the woman up the stairs and down a dim hallway with plush carpet. The hallway was long, and they passed several closed doors on both sides before the matron halted before an open one. She smiled, and gestured for them to enter.

The room was lit with candles and smelled pleasantly of burning incense. There were two long and narrow tables in the room, and both were covered with a white sheet. "Please," said the matron. "If you'll disrobe and lay down, I'll have our masseuses come in and see to you." She exited and closed the door behind her.

The two friends exchanged looks. "Did she say disrobe?" asked Melanie.

"She did. How much is enough?"

Melanie considered for a moment, then undid the knot of her green sash. "The underpants stay on." She smiled, then clarified in a confidential voice: "They're made of lace more expensive than my sword."

Dana laughed and tossed her hat under her table. She and Melanie turned their backs to one another and stripped down to their skivvies, then wrapped themselves in the sheets provided and placed their clothes in a neat pile beside the door. As the matron had not yet returned, they explored the room, cautiously opening cream pots to sniff at the contents, or sliding open drawers to touch the smooth heating stones they discovered inside. When they heard footsteps outside, they both hopped onto their respective tables, flipped off their boots, and laid flat on their stomachs with their faces on their folded arms.

They raised their heads as the door opened, and could not help but smile at the two handsome men that entered. The men were both slightly more than middle-aged – both had dark hair, and both had temples that were only beginning to be touched by grey. The matron entered smoothly behind them and knelt to pick up the bundle of clothes. "Enjoy, ladies," she said with a smile, and closed the door behind her.

Melanie glanced at Dana, who raised her eyebrows, but both women abruptly forgot any mortal cares as each masseuse began to work his magic. It was all Melanie could do to prevent a groan from escaping: she had not realized that her neck and back had been so tense. The masseuse kneaded the knots out of her muscles with hands of iron, working slowly up and down her spine, and back and across her shoulders. The swordplay and bedplay of Melanie's particular pirate life had been excellent for sculpting muscle, but it appeared that even those muscles could benefit from care and attention. Melanie was rapidly beginning to understand the advantages of port-life – she could not see it possible for a masseuse to replicate this experience onboard the _Yellow Dart_ as she rode the waves, although she still made a mental note to find someone who would try.

To Dana, it felt as though her masseuse's hands were mirroring the rhythmic and powerful waves of the ocean, and she felt the fair skin of her face flush as her blood was encouraged to circulate merrily. She could not remember the last time that she had felt so relaxed or, paradoxically, so invigorated with animal energy.

When both men produced bowls of heated massage oil to aid in their work, Dana and Melanie melted completely. The oil smelled of almonds and slicked their skin with a pleasing scent and smoothness and would set them apart completely from the majority of grizzled and scaly pirates. In the soft and scented glow of the room, and under the professional hands of the two men, for a moment Dana and Melanie felt more akin to Egyptian princesses than pirates.

The massage was over far too soon. Both ladies protested loudly but teasingly, and the two gentlemen bowed their heads politely and exited the room. When the door closed, Melanie stretched luxuriously and yawned.

"That," she said, "was absolutely amazing."

Dana made a noise of agreement with her eyes closed and her head on her arms. Her eyes were not closed for long, however – they flew open when both women heard the _click_ of the door lock. They glanced at one another, and Dana leapt up with her sheet around her to try the doorknob.

She looked at Melanie over her glistening shoulder. "We're locked in."

"What?"

Melanie got up and gathered her sheets about her. Dana knelt and peered through the keyhole. She could see the movement of figures outside, but in the narrow hallway there was little for her to look at. Both women listened hard. They could hear unfamiliar deep masculine voices, as well as the low voice of the matron, but were only able to distinguish two words: _ready_ and _waiting_. Melanie's eyes widened.

"I can't believe it. We've actually been tricked into a brothel." She started to laugh before sitting down and starting to pull on her boots. "This is hilarious."

Dana shook her head and bent to fasten her own boots. She pulled her hat back on. "I knew it was going to be an interesting evening."

"Do you have a boot dagger?"

The gunslinger smiled and pulled her flashing little blade from its hidden sheath. "I never leave home without one."

The captain of the _Yellow Dart_ grinned. "Then we have no problem. Ready?"

Dana snuffed out the candles. "Ready."

Nude except for their impromptu togas and their boots, the women took up positions on either side of the locked door. They listened as the male voices and heavy footsteps came closer, and held their breath as the lock clicked.

The women waited until both men took two or three steps into the room before swinging the door shut behind them. Sharpened steel whistled through the air. In less than three seconds, both men had gasped, buckled, and met the floor.

Dana and Melanie strode briskly to the door, and opened it slowly. Melanie poked her head out and saw that the hallway was empty. The doors before and on either side of them were closed and quiet. She looked at Dana. "I hate to say it, because I really liked that dress, but should we abandon the clothes?" Dana nodded grimly.

"We can get you a new dress. Besides, we can always cut eye-holes in these sheets and pretend we're ghosts. We could haunt whoever we want."

A slow smile stole across Melanie's face. "You know, there's one mortal I wouldn't mind haunting at all."

* * *

In the Léogâne plaza, the man called Ferdinand stood behind his table and scanned the passing faces of the nighttime travelers for the products that he needed. One was too mousy, another's ears were too large – many people did not realize what difficult work it was to browse for bordello merchandise. He smiled, diligence rewarded, when he saw a lovely young woman with red hair and freckles walk past.

"Miss!" he called, and raised his hand to her. He smiled, seeing clearly the charming picture made by his handsome face and smart suit. He always dressed carefully to set himself apart from the rest of the vendors in the plaza. _Look at me_, his demeanor seemed to say. _Compare me to the other ruffians here. How can you not trust me?_ And trust the red-haired woman did, because she was walking carefully over to him.

Ferdinand smiled more widely at her, welcoming her, and had opened his mouth to compliment her porcelain beauty when he was stopped by her eyes suddenly fixing on something over his shoulder and going wide with fright. There was a rustle behind him, and before he could turn, Ferdinand felt a cold blade pressed against the side of his throat.

"Carry on, sweetheart," a female voice said to the woman. "We'll look after him." The red-haired lady hurried away.

* * *

Jack and Will were just about ready to call it a night. They had enjoyed a relaxing evening chatting and observing the crowds from their corner of the _Adjective Noun_, and had been especially pleased to see Matthew, Carly, Jones, and Carine receive innumerable congratulations and well-wishes from the pirate onlookers. Their moment in the lime light was well-deserved, Will thought, for the crew of the _Yellow Dart_ had put on an extremely impressive show. Thinking of his own show that he was expected to perform the next day, Will was privately glad to be seeing his bed as early as he was. He yawned and stretched.

Suddenly, the doors of the _Adjective Noun_ burst open. Dana and Melanie entered and strode briskly by an astounded Will and Jack at their table and headed straight for the stairs that would lead them up to their rooms. Both were clad only in their boots and heavily blood-stained white sheets. Their bare skin shone. Dana still had her hat on.

Jack opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the ladies stopped and addressed them. "This isn't our blood –" Dana began.

"– and we don't want to talk about it," finished Melanie. Without another word, they both turned and headed up the stairs.

Jack closed his mouth. Will blinked. They looked at one another.

"I'm tempted to think it's time we had a boy's night out," said Jack.


	20. A Brief Letter

Chapter Twenty – A Brief Letter

_Dear Captain Jack Sparrow, Esq.,_

_I am writing in response to the repeated and, as of late, slightly belligerent correspondence that I have continued to receive from your person. For the sake of our professional relationship – which I am all but certain we both wish to continue in the same spirit of geniality as in the past – and in light of the remainder of this contractual episode in particular, I believe it necessary to clarify why exactly it is that I have denied your request._

_I understand the appeal that you may see in the application of the method of storytelling you suggest, but I am sure I do not need to remind you of our respective positions and the importance of subscribing to them – me as the unseen author of your fate, and you as the enthralling and visible manifestation of my wishes. Understand that this flattery is not unfounded, Mr. Sparrow, and that our partnership is more than one of mere convenience. But you must also keep in mind that I have a commitment not only to you, but to the rest of the _Dart's_ cast._

_In fact, it is my relationship with Captain Melanie Cash that prevents me from accepting and implementing your suggestion. Before you claim that I have hastily and unfairly chosen sides, I would ask you to keep this thought in mind – you are not my primary financial benefactor. Captain Cash is. Now, this does not mean that her requests are carried out without due consideration, but rather that her suggestions are given priority. Her paperwork goes to the top of my pile, if you will. If, in the future, you feel strongly enough about this arrangement, please feel free to contact me with a more lucrative offer._

_That said, while it may seem attractive to parallel the previously contracted episode, _The Sting of the Yellow Dart_, with another scene involving nudity and a reflective surface – with yourself on the observing end in this instance, as you have repeatedly suggested – it is not something that is within my power to do. To justify this simply, Melanie Cash will not be had. This bears repeating: _Melanie Cash will not be had_. It is not possible to take advantage of her in the same way that you were taken advantage of in the past. Not only that, but Roberts has previously assured me that the _Adjective Noun_ is a completely arachnid-free environment. In fact, Dana Flint would not have agreed to appear in this episode were it otherwise._

_In closing, please remember that I have not entirely forsaken your notes: following the scantily-clad conclusion of the nineteenth chapter, I would think this has become obvious. Please do not hesitate to submit further proposals, as I enjoy receiving them, but bear in mind that continuing to include your underpants will not sway my decisions._

_Yours,_

_**The Author**__._

_P.S. _

_Please assure Mr. William Turner that my inclusion of the 'holding your own' line in the eight chapter of this installment was meant simply in jest. I realize that he is uncertain as to the limits of permissible innuendo in what is arguably a tribute to a family friendly film, but he might be reminded of the rather memorable favors he performed – without hesitation – in order to secure his role in this tale, and my discretion in keeping them in confidence. Until now, of course. His current functioning alongside Miss Dana Flint and Captain Melanie Cash is completely within the acceptable, and I might encourage him to take advantage of the room he has for additional suggestive behavior: while it is without question that there is room for only one rake in this tale, a position fully and handsomely inhabited by yourself, please inform Will that no one would protest were he to act on his more animal impulses._

_In fact, quite the opposite. _


	21. Round Two

Chapter Twenty-One – Round Two

The second round of the QuatriPirate Tournament commenced on a grey and overcast day. It was not unusual for port towns to experience wildly varying weather, and the heat and humidity so close to the water could often make for sudden and powerful storms. The ships moored in the harbor were rocked as the waves swelled and the wind began to gust. The sky was the color of slate. The lack of brilliant sunlight had muted Léogâne's colors, and it might have been a different town.

Dana stood outside the _Adjective Noun_ while lunch was finishing inside. She leaned against the wall, under the awning, and watched the sky. She was interested in the low light and the strong wind, particularly if her event was going to take place outside, and thought it wise to acclimatize before it began. Her stomach was rolling as her breakfast of coffee and sweet rolls rested uneasily. She had woken with the dawn to check and recheck her pistols and shot, not nervous exactly, but anxiously eager to begin. The brevity and potential danger of the tournament events thus far had actually been quite to her liking – in her own line of work, there was no such thing as a second shot, sometimes literally.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door of the _Adjective Noun_ swung open. Sands had exited the tavern, and he cupped his gloved hands to light a cigarette. He turned his head and saw her standing alone.

"Cigarette?" he asked.

Dana shook her head. "No, thank you."

He ambled over to lean against the wall beside her, and smoked thoughtfully for a few moments. His head tilted upwards as he surveyed the sky. "Do you think it's going to storm?"

"Maybe tonight. It would be nice if it did – it might cool things off for a couple of days."

Sands smiled thinly behind his dark glasses. "I like the heat, myself."

The two gunslingers stood in silence, and watched the thin tendrils of smoke from Sands' clove cigarette rise and twist before they were borne away on the breeze. Dana glanced sideways, but Sands' face was hidden by the screen of his dark hair. From inside the tavern came the sound of chairs scraping backwards as lunch was finished. The events were about to begin.

Sands flicked what remained of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his boot. He then turned to open the door and held it open. "After you," he said. Dana went through the door, and in passing close to Sands, caught a whiff of the scent of his cologne mixed with what remained of the clove cigarette. It was a strangely familiar smell. A little shiver ran down her back.

Inside the tavern, Roberts was atop the wooden stage, making sure that the event participants were all present and ready. Dana raised her hand to acknowledge her name when Roberts called it, and Sands did the same. They looked at one another.

"It looks like it's about to get a wee bit dangerous, Sugarbutt," said Sands.

Dana beamed. "I've been waiting three chapters for you to say that."

* * *

The first event of the second round did indeed take place outside. Roberts had returned the participants and the pirate troupe to the harbor. This time, however, there was no wooden set-up at which the gunslingers would fire. The harbor was busy as vendors began to pack their wares and sailors worked to prepare their ships to ride out the impending storm. Overhead, the innumerable seagulls fought to keep their positions as the wind blew more fiercely, and the flutter and snap of immense sails was intensely loud.

Roberts leapt up onto a crate, and still had to shout to make himself heard. He unrolled the event parchment. "Welcome again, friends! May I have the two competitors join me?" Dana and Sands extracted themselves from the crowd, which had grown considerably since the day before. Dana and Melanie both smiled, having recognized several of the faces present from the _Wailing Widow_. These fellows hooted and clapped as Dana went to stand beside Roberts. Sands joined her, and his black shirtsleeves flapped violently in the wind.

"Your task is very simple!" Roberts cried. "Over our heads you see that most telling representative of port civilization, the seagull! Dana Flint and Sheldon Sands, you have each been assigned a colored bead – Dana has red, and Sands blue. This bead has been affixed to the leg of one of the seagulls overhead. Your task is to find it and bring it down!" Dana glanced quickly at the waif Carly, knowing her affinity for animalkind, and saw her frown at Roberts' words. The gunslinger abruptly decided she would not kill her bird. She was about to angle her face to the sky when Roberts raised his voice again.

"You may ready your pistols, but you may not search for your gull until my mark." At that, Dana and Sands turned to face one another with pistols drawn. They met one another's eyes – or tried, as Dana could not place them precisely behind his dark glasses. They smiled slowly at one another. Dana's trigger finger itched, but at the very least, she had a handsome face to regard.

While they stood looking at one another, Roberts continued. "You have two shots each, and two shots only. If you do not retrieve your bead with those shots, you fail. If you both retrieve your bead, the faster is the victor. Are you both ready?" Both gunslingers nodded curtly. Dana took a breath. This was just the way she had wanted the event to be – deadly fast.

"Begin!"

The crowd roared with applause and they both looked up. There were hundreds of seagulls overhead, all of them shrieking and twisting and diving. While the strength of the wind would work against them, the grey, cloudy sky was a benefit in deciphering the chaos of the flock – Dana allowed her eyes to relax slightly, encouraging all similar colors to blur together. Accordingly, the grey of the gull feathers and the sky seemed to merge, and other colors stood out more starkly. Her eyes darted to one side as she saw a shimmer of colour – but it was blue. She noted where Sands' spotted gull flew, and continued to search for her own.

She found it quickly, a tiny glass bead fastened with white string to the leg of a uniformly grey gull, which was engaged in a battle with another almost directly over her head. Without hesitating, she brought her arm up and fired. At the same moment, Sands caught a glimpse of his own gull and snapped his arm up to shoot it down.

In a sudden flash of brilliance, Dana turned her attention from her falling bead to Sands' falling gull. It spun around once in midair, and when her sharp eyes caught the glimmer of blue as it rotated around, she fired her second shot: Sands' glass bead exploded into dust as Dana's landed neatly in the palm of her hand. The crowd bellowed happily, and the beadless corpse of Sands' gull landed heavily on the ground.

As the pirates cheered, Dana turned to Sands and touched the brim of her hat respectively. He smiled and extended his hand, which Dana shook. He pulled her in close so that he could speak into her ear: "Good show, Flint. But if you don't go all the way now, you'd better believe that you're going to have me to answer to. Can you dig it?"

* * *

The second event progressed nearly as quickly as its parallel the day before. Once again, the two thieves could not have been more poorly matched – it was not a case of proper or improper dress or demeanor, as had been the case with Carly and Tommy the Unimportant, for James and Melanie were both as striking and charismatic as the most successful thieves tend to be. The difference that set the two thieves miles apart was not in their look. Instead, the deciding factor was the level of their sheer tenacity and gall, for it was no secret that Melanie Cash was absolutely and altogether shameless.

Gathered once more in the plaza, Roberts gave the word that both thieves were to make one circuit of the square. They would each start at one end, and when they returned, the participant who had retrieved the largest number of gold coins would be declared the winner. The plaza was thronged with people who were purchasing supplies before the arrival of the storm, and when the event began and James and Melanie disappeared amongst the crowd, it seemed likely that they would be evenly matched. In Dana's mind, it would be most important to be speedy – one circuit of the plaza did not take long, but it was the point of overlap with the other thief that would be vital. After all, the faster one was emptying the pockets of the oblivious citizens, the more could be emptied before the thieves began to empty pockets where their opponent had already been.

This, however, did not turn out to be the case. Each thief made one circuit as per the rules, but Melanie returned much more quickly than James. While the suave pirate had been dipping his hand into the pockets of the citizens and working hard to collect what had evidently amounted to no more than a paltry sum, Melanie had coolly surveyed the hustle and bustle of the plaza and slipped her nimble fingers into one pocket only.

_Pocket_ might not have been the most accurate word to describe that which was lightened by Melanie Cash. A better word might have been _treasury_. The armed guard standing watch over the gold coins being transferred from the tax collector and to the royal escort bound for the treasury had no idea that two heavy sacks of coins had been lifted from under his nose. If he had been asked, all he would have remembered was a pretty lady with dark hair who had smiled winningly at him, asked him to check his pocket-watch for the time, and placed a light hand on his shoulder in thanks. Melanie Cash was the undisputed winner.

But amongst the cheers of the pirate spectators, it appeared as though both thieves had won themselves a trophy: when James shook Melanie's hand to congratulate her on her victory, he whispered something into her ear that made her blush and giggle when she replied. As he escorted her back to the _Adjective Noun_ on his arm for the third event, Dana and Jack exchanged a look. It was assumed that neither would wait up for Melanie that night.

* * *

The storm that raged outside ensured that there was a veritable horde of pirates crowded into the _Adjective Noun_ to witness the third event. That, and word had spread since the excitement and blood of Carine and Joe's swordfight, and the fact that a virtually unknown farmboy and a relatively nameless blacksmith had secured themselves places as competitors had drawn out a large number of gamblers. Standing on the wooden stage beside Westley and the – current – Dread Pirate Roberts, Will could not help but feel as though he were being scrutinized. Throughout the tavern, there was the unmistakable _clink_ of coins changing hands, and Will wondered whether or not the odds were in his favor. He had not forgotten that he had won his last swordfight with Westley thanks to the nearly well-placed bottle-over-the-head provided by Dana Flint. This was going to be an interesting match.

This match had also drawn a large number of female pirates for the first time. Rouged rogues of every age, shape, and description had turned out for the showdown between the two handsome young men – several had managed to elbow their way to the front of the crowd, and Carine scowled at these before turning her attention back to Will and Westley.

Roberts held his parchment aloft. "The third event!" he cried. "Calls for quiet! Quiet please!" The roar of laughter and conversation in the room died away until there was silence. Roberts cast his smile around and inclined his head. "I thank you. And soon, our competitors will thank you as well. Westley and William, your task is this: disarm your opponent. That is all."

Westley and Will glanced at one another, and a low murmur of displeasure rippled through the crowd – compared to the previous day, and in the context of the lofty title of _QuatriPirate Tournament_, this was bland indeed. Roberts held up his hand for quiet, and a serving girl hurried forward to hand him a little bundle. He thanked her and raised the two strips of fabric above his ahead. "Gentlemen," he said. "You will also be blindfolded."

This brought a roar of approval from the crowd, and Dana smiled at how apparently easy it was to find favor with gamblers and with pirates – one unexpected element made all the difference. She scanned the crowd, and saw Melanie standing very close to James Craig. Dana looked more closely, and saw that her arm was slung low around the handsome man's waist.

The gunslinger was startled by Jack's voice in her ear and his hand on her hip. "All the better to filch from you, my dear," he said, with a nod towards Melanie. Indeed, as Dana watched, the coquettish Melanie stroked the side of James' face with one hand and deftly emptied his coat pocket with the other. Dana shook her head, and thought, not for the first time, that it might not have been coincidence that had ensured Melanie's last name was _Cash_.

As she and Jack looked on, Roberts securely fastened a blindfold onto each of the swordsmen, and bade them step backwards until they had reached the edges of the wooden stage. He called again for silence. "Disarm your opponent, gentlemen. But if you fall from this stage, you risk disqualification. And if no one has lost his sword within the space of two minutes –" he produced an hourglass, "– then you are both disqualified, to the detriment of your teammates. Are you ready?" Both Westley and Will nodded, then unsheathed their swords. Dana was surprised to see that they were both smiling, and that they had both unsheathed their sword with their left hand. Roberts waited for the crowd to hush completely, and then turned over the hourglass. "Begin!"

With two smooth and silent movements, Will flipped his boots off and into the air, and caught them in his empty hand. Beside Dana, Jack chuckled. He put his mouth to her ear. "Just when you think that blacksmith is pure as new fallen snow, 'e surprises you." Will paced gingerly along the edge of the stage, his head cocked for noises, and Westley did likewise. From what Dana remembered of the gallant and former Dread Pirate, she correctly assumed that it was not easy for him to stalk his prey silently. The man was unbelievably articulate, but that was due in large part to the fact that he was also unbelievably talkative.

The opponents circled one another while the silent crowd watched breathlessly. Roberts held the running hourglass high, but it was clear that he was as intent on this match as the rest of the audience – the sand might have run out and he would not have spoken. Simultaneously, both Will and Westley took a tentative step towards the middle of the stage. Their blades crossed once, and twice, but both pulled themselves backwards before they could take anything more than the most defensive of positions. The two swordsmen continued to circle silently, and the sand continued to run.

Suddenly, Will halted. He listened with his head lowered as Westley continued his cautious circle, and when the blonde farmboy was nearly beside Will, the blacksmith tossed one of his boots some distance in front of him. Westley lunged forward immediately, sword extended towards the sound, and Will flipped the blade neatly out of his outstretched and exposed hand. It was over.

The final grains of the hourglass ran through as Westley's blade clattered to the floor, and the pirates whooped and clapped as both men pulled off their blindfolds. They shook hands firmly, still grinning, and Roberts moved forward to congratulate them both.

Dana turned to Jack. "And that just leaves you."

"Look me in the eye, and tell me you 'ave a doubt." Jack smiled, and the tavern's candleglow set points of red light into the center of his dark eyes.

"That I cannot do."

* * *

The evening was still young when the fourth and final event began. Before dinner was served, the champion of drink was to be decided between Jack Sparrow and Chazz Michael Michaels. They had both been installed at a little table in the corner of the tavern. On the table were two tiny shot glasses and an hourglass. Dana smiled in spite of herself, and Jack found her eyes amongst those of the crowd and waggled his eyebrows. Was this to be a repeat of the escapade with Loretta's potent absinthe? Dana's head started to hurt at the memory.

Beside her, Will was still flushed from his own event. Dana had shaken his hand as he descended from the stage and clapped him on the back. "Looks like we're not so shabby as pirates after all, eh?" His eyes had been dancing, and they remained so. The high of Will's victory was not diminished by the bulk of the man sitting across the table from Jack. There was no question in Will's mind that Jack would emerge as the winner. All that remained was to wait and watch.

Roberts consulted his parchment before turning to the crowd and the contenders. "The final event of the day!" he cried. "Is to be a contest of wills between these champions of drink! Their task is this: one hundred shots in one hundred minutes!" The crowd cheered – large-sounding numbers were dependable crowd-pleasers among bandits – and the noise increased when Roberts produced the bottles that Jack and Chazz would partake from. The liquid inside was absolutely clear. Roberts opened one bottle and passed samples among the crowd. Will and Dana took the barest of sips out of the tiny glass they were handed, and the fluid evaporated off of their tongues before they could swallow it. Potent stuff.

As if reading their thoughts, Roberts raised his hands and his voice. "This is imported stock," he shouted. "And more than one bottle has been known to kill a horse." He turned to meet the eyes of the drinking contenders. "I would prefer it if you did not perish here tonight, but you shall have to take your lives into your own hands." He opened two new bottles and set them on the table. "Are you ready?"

"Bring it," said Chazz. Jack only smiled, and nodded once.

"Begin!" shouted Roberts, and flipped the hourglass.

* * *

_Shot One_: Both competitors are fresh and – relatively – sober. They each pour themselves one small glassful and toss it back. Chazz winces, and asks whether or not the horse died from the taste. Jack remains silent and smiling.



_Shot Ten_: Both competitors pour themselves another glass, but Chazz is flushed and has to squint at the bottle. Jack remains silent and smiling.



_Shot Thirty-Four_: Chazz largely misses his glass when he attempts to fill it, forcing Roberts to begin to fill them for him. Chazz mistakes Roberts for a waiter and shouts for him to bring a bottle of red wine, damn it, he didn't order white. Jack drinks, and remains silent and smiling.



_Shot Fifty-Nine_: Chazz begins to sing a loud and off-key rendition song about a horse with no name, and misses his mouth when he tosses the shot. Subsequently, it does not qualify as shot fifty-nine and he must retake it. He insists that Roberts owes him money. Jack drinks, and remains silent and smiling.



_Shot Eighty-One_: Chazz shouts, "He who drinks and runs away, lives to bone another day," and falls backwards off of his chair. Jack toasts his snoring bulk with the half-full bottle on the table, and drains the rest in a single swallow. The event ends with his victory. In the congratulatory din, he remains silent and smiling.

* * *

Dinner that evening could not have been more delicious. The red wine was tasty, the suckling pig and roasted vegetables were succulent, and the absolute victories seized by Dana, Melanie, Will and Jack were the most delightful of all. In the midst of the happy chaos of Roberts' large dinner table, the four victorious friends would meet one another's eyes again and again, and lift their glasses in silent toasts. As predicted, the _Adjective Noun_ was packed with people, but the atmosphere was slightly different now that a large percentage of the pirate population consisted of women. The ad hoc band from the previous evening had returned by popular request, and a space on the floor had been cleared for dancing.

"So, what happened with James?" Dana asked Melanie. The captain of the _Yellow Dart_ was refilling her own wine glass and any others that she could reach. Will watched with wide eyes as his glass was filled yet again, and wondered how to properly refuse a triple portion from a pirate that would not be refused. He took the barest sip. Beside him, Jack was nursing a coffee and whiskey. His encounter with the mystery liquid had left him in an obvious celebratory mood, but he was still rather bleary-eyed. Will was simply impressed that it had been definitively proven that Jack had a constitution which could compete with a horse's.

"Well," said Melanie. "Let us leave it at saying that while James was a very handsome man and certainly deserving of a chance to compete, it was obvious why he was a thief by profession." Dana raised her eyebrows inquisitively over the rim of her glass. Melanie winked. "It's much easier to slip in and out of places undetected when your tools are as miniscule as his."

Dana exploded into laughter and could barely keep her wine inside her mouth. Melanie dissolved into giggles herself, and Will could only shake his head.

All three jumped as an angry fist was slammed down onto the tabletop. Across the dinner table, a brooding Billy O'Random looked up from his ale to glare at them. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked haggard from grief and drink. Tommy the Unimportant sat hunched at the enormous man's elbow. Billy fixed Dana with a venomous stare. "I don't understand," he growled, "how you can all treat this tournament so lightly."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "I think that we deserve to treat this tournament in whatever way we desire. After all, we deserve to be here, don't we?" Billy pushed his mug to the side and made a point of cracking his monstrous knuckles loudly.

"I would watch my tongue, little girl," he said. "We aren't all happy Disney pirates here. I could think of a fair list of things I'd do to the governor's daughter instead o' rescuing her." Tommy guffawed, but Dana smiled thinly and pushed her own glass aside.

"I should think it would be obvious that we aren't in a happy Disney movie." Dana lowered her voice and leaned over the table. "After all, your incompetent brother is dead and gone, now isn't he?" With a bellow of rage, a furious Billy O'Random leapt across the table at Dana Flint and knocked her from her chair.

Melanie and Will jumped to their feet immediately, but Jack held up a hand from where he sat. He had neither turned nor flinched. "Flint can take care of herself," was all he said.

And Flint could. She punched Billy squarely in the jaw and again in the eye when his face was turned to the side. As he groaned in pain, she rolled from under his bulk and punched him in the eye a second time before he had a chance to swing his huge fist at her.

From the head of the table, Roberts watched wordlessly. Will and Melanie turned to him, not asking for him to halt the fight but verifying that no rules were being broken. Roberts' eyes glinted behind his black mask and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Well do I understand revenge," he said softly. "Let Billy fight until he is defeated."

It did not seem that Billy would last much longer. It was obvious that the majority of his energy had been simply fury and adrenaline, and the two did not serve him long. He held up a hand in front of his bloodied face, and Dana halted her blows. Her hat had fallen off and she was panting. "No more," Billy croaked. Dana dropped her hands to her sides, and sneered at him. She turned back to her friends at the table. But Melanie and Will felt their hearts leap to their throats when the seemingly defeated Billy drew a dagger from his boot and suddenly advanced.

"Dana!" Melanie cried, and the gunslinger whirled around just as Billy brought his knife down in a furious arc.

Dana was struck in the face, and dropped to her knees.

Shocked, Jack now leapt to his feet, but he was knocked out of the way by a livid Melanie. With a furious cry, she unsheathed her sword and ran Billy completely through. She twisted her blade as she withdrew it, snarling, and Billy crumpled to the ground in a gurgling mess. She turned savagely on Roberts with her sword still dripping. "Can you understand _this_?" she cried.

Across the table, a furious Carly the Waif unsheathed her own blade and leveled the gleaming point at Tommy's neck. "I suggest you make a gracious exit," she said. She did not need to ask him twice – without a word, the terrified boy was away and gone into the crowd, feverishly pushing his way to the front door. By this time, word of the violence at the champions' table had spread - conversations were ending and heads were turning.

Melanie let her sword slip out of her fingers and to the ground. Her first mate and physician Matthew had shoved his way to her side through the throng and was kneeling beside the fallen Flint. It did not take him long to ascertain the damage.

"Find me some bandages and hot water," he said hoarsely. "I don't know if I can save her eye."


	22. The Cure

Chapter Twenty-Two – The Cure

The rain was steady on the window. The storm that had gathered in the afternoon had ranted and raged all evening, but it had mellowed with the approach of night. Thunder grumbled outside, and though the pale curtains were drawn, brilliant strokes of lightning lit the entirety of the room.

There was little in the room to see. Matthew had ushered Melanie and Carly in moments before, after he had finished changing and setting the bandage across Dana's face. Though his smile had been grim, he had had good news. "She's going to be fine," he said, but Melanie had noticed the bright blood on the cuffs of his shirt. She and Carly had pushed open the door quietly to see the gunslinger lying motionless on top of the bed with her hands folded. The candles had been extinguished.

"It's dark in here," noted Carly.

"It is," said Melanie. "You still have one eye, Dana. It's foolish to turn out the lights and pretend otherwise."

Dana started to laugh. It was a strange sound in the dark and silent room, and yet a stranger one coming from her. It sounded slightly manic. "I have no idea how this happened," she said finally. Her hat was pulled low over her face, and in the dark neither Melanie nor Carly could see her eyes – or what remained of them.

"No idea how what happened?" asked Melanie. "Because I hate to say it, but you might have goaded Billy –"

"It isn't that," chuckled Dana. "I mean, I have no idea how we got here."

"Where?"

"Here. Here, to this point. Here to this dark room, to the storming outside and the thunder rolling, and here to this damned _drama_!" She sat up suddenly and the lightning flashed, illuminating the white bandage across the side of her face. "There! You see?" she said. "That dramatic lightning is exactly what I'm talking about! What is this? What happened to us?"

Carly cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Jarome Iginla!" Dana cried. She had to pause for a moment after she spoke so loudly, hand to her head – Matthew had warned her not to exert herself, and she was in pain. She grit her teeth, and continued more sedately. "Think about it you two – the last time we were all together in an adventure, things were completely and utterly ridiculous. There wasn't murder, there wasn't maiming – there was Jarome Iginla! There was a big top and a man on fire!"

Melanie snickered.

Dana continued. "See? What I'm trying to say is that the last time we were together, things weren't like this." She sighed, and leaned back on her pillows. "It's great to do things like bring in Chazz Michael Michaels to play with, but if we're spending our other time agonizing over things like facing our own crewmates in competition, I'm starting to worry that our adventure is trying to take itself too seriously."

Carly and Melanie were quiet for a moment, mulling over what Dana had said. When they thought back to their previous adventure aboard the _Yellow Dart_, the events of the last few days – and even of the last few hours – had indeed seemed slightly more grandiose and self-important. Could they be losing their touch as a fun-loving and merry band of brigands? Was this the end of their delightful adventures? Was this the end of their songs?

The waif spoke up suddenly. "I know! There's one cure for a fanfic – I mean, for an adventure that's dangerously close to becoming too serious, or too much like an actual story."

Dana looked up. "What's that?"

"It's the only sure thing that ruins any sort of credit the author – er, the adventure has built up, the only thing that makes it totally ridiculous again." Melanie leaned forward now, interested.

"Well, what is it?"

Carly looked solemnly at her captain, and replied with deadly seriousness: "An angsty teenage songfic montage of the main characters."

Melanie burst out laughing. "A songfic montage?"

"Yes. The more unrequited the love between the characters, the better. It doesn't matter if the love would have had any basis in reality. Well, in our reality. It just has to be emotional. And have longing looks."

Dana sounded thoughtful. "You know, if it were a pop song –"

"– an angsty popsong," Carly corrected.

"– then it just might work." She looked at Melanie. "What do you think?"

Melanie shrugged. "I'm having a good time either way."

"That's because you're not the one lying on the sickbed after a mortal injury, Cash. I bet I would narrow my eyes at you if I had two."

"Point taken," Melanie replied. She turned to the waif. "All right, Carly, what do we need for your angsty song montage?"

The waif smiled. "Just a new chapter."


	23. UnRequited Teenage Montage

Chapter Twenty-Three – "(Un)Requited Teenage SongFic Montage"

(_courtesy of "Things I'll Never Say" by Avril Lavigne_)

(_guitar_)

_Scene: a balmy summer afternoon. The clouds in the blue sky are mirrored in the gentle waters of the sea across which the _Yellow Dart_ sails. Perched on the railing of the _Dart_ are Carly the Waif in a billowing shirt and Carine Cash in flowing skirts. Carine is playing the guitar, smiling and nodding in time, and Carly is tapping a tambourine and singing the verbal acoustics for the scene change_:

"Da da da da da da …"

_Scene: Tortugan street, evening. Melanie and Jack are swordfighting, back to back, against the typical Tortugan chaotic onslaught of pirates. They duck and weave, complimenting one another's movements, and in the midst of the battle Jack casts a look over his shoulder at Melanie. She turns to meet another blade, and her straight hair swings around to frame her face. She glances at him and smiles, then moves to catch another thrust. _

I'm tuggin' at my hair  
I'm pullin' at my clothes

_He seizes her hand to haul her from the crowd. They fight their way free successfully, and when they emerge from the mass of people, he hesitates before releasing her hand. They both sheath their swords, and Jack avoids Melanie's eyes._

I'm tryin' to keep my cool  
I know it shows

_Scene: Will's blacksmith in Port Royal, afternoon. (An uninjured) Dana and Will are practicing swordfighting one another in the dim light. Will is on the offensive, Dana feints and parries, and when she must surrender they both laugh. Dana runs her hand through her hair. Will swallows. _

I'm starin' at my feet  
My cheeks are turnin' red

_Scene: Outside Will's blacksmith, afternoon. Dana and Will are sitting on Will's stoop in the light from his lantern, and Dana is pointing out the various parts of her pistol. As she explains them to Will, her attention alternates between her pistol and his face, but Will never takes his gaze away from Dana's eyes. He smiles distractedly each time she looks up at him._

I'm searchin' for the words - inside my head

_Scene: Tortugan pub, evening. Jack carries two mugs high through a crowded bar. He sidesteps the drunks fighting in his way, and arrives at a table where Melanie is waiting, smiling. _

I'm feelin' nervous - tryin' to be so perfect

_Scene: Will's blacksmith, evening. Dana sits on the open windowsill, looking out, while Will hammers at his anvil. He pauses and glances up at her. _

'Cause I know you're worth it - you're worth it

_Scene: Tortugan bar, evening. Jack and Melanie cheers with their mugs._

Yeah

_Scene: Aboard the _Yellow Dart_, afternoon. Melanie is standing at the helm with her hand on the wheel, and Jack is sitting on the railing, sharpening his sword. He stops and sees her pull her hair up off of her neck in the heat. He cocks his head, watching her._

If I could say what I wanna say  
I'd say I wanna blow you -

Away

_Scene: Inside the captain's cabin aboard the _Dart_, evening_. _Melanie is examining a map, and tapping a point on it for the benefit of Jack, who is leaning over her shoulder to look. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and she glances up at him._

Be with you every night  
Am I squeezin' you too tight?

_Scene: Port Royal marketplace, afternoon. Will is scrutinizing a merchant's wares when Dana tugs at his sleeve and he turns. She is visibly excited, and gestures for him to follow her through the crowd. He grasps her hand and allows her to lead him, smiling. _

If I could say what I wanna see  
I wanna to see you go down -

On one knee

_Dana arrives before a vendor selling pineapples, and Will starts to laugh. She pays for one and places it in his hands. He examines it, and she puts her chin on his shoulder to look at the fruit as he holds it. He turns it over, impressed, and glances at her. Their eyes meet. His smile dies away as she pats his arm and moves on._

Marry me today  
Guess I'm wishin' my life away  
With these things I'll never say

(_guitar_)

_Scene: The _Yellow Dart _moving quickly across the blue ocean in bright daylight._

_Scene: A view of the colorful _Carnival Island_ in early evening, with lanterns burning and throngs of people in the streets_.

_Scene: Outside the _Not-Exactly-a-Pub_ in early evening, where patrons are streaming in and out. _

_Scene: Inside the _Not-Exactly-a-Pub_, evening. Dana is sitting at her regular table with her boots up when she spies Jack, Melanie, and Will enter. She blinks, surprised, and her gaze lingers on Jack, who acknowledges her with a slow smile from across the room. She lets out a nervous breath before offering him a hesitant smile in return. _

It don't do me any good

It's just a waste of time

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart _as she cruises, evening. Dana is standing at the railing with her hair flying behind her. She turns to look over her shoulder, hearing Jack walking to his quarters across the deck. Her eyes travel up from his worn boots to the flared back of his open jacket to his dancing dreadlocks. She looks out again at the black water. _

What use is it to you

What's on my mind?

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart_ as she cruises, morning. Melanie emerges from the captain's cabin with a stretch and is about to head across the deck. She stops when she sees Will up on the quarterdeck. He is brushing his hair. She watches him, head to the side, and when he finishes by tying his ponytail and turning to her with a wave and smile, she blinks hard. She returns the smile._

If it ain't comin' out,

We're not going anywhere

_Scene: Tortugan street, afternoon_. _Jack, Dana, Will, and Melanie are all walking down the street in a line. Jack and Dana are talking, and Will, obviously glad to return to Tortuga, spies something on the side of the street that catches his interest. Excited, he grasps Melanie's arm and points to it so that she can see. While he speaks, she glances in the direction of his finger obligingly, but frequently turns back to glance at his face instead._

So why can't I just tell you

That I care?

_Scene: Tortugan pub, evening. Melanie, Will, Dana, and Jack are all sitting around a table with drinks in front of them. Tired, Dana yawns and folds her arms. Her head starts to nod. Jack lifts her hat to peek into her face and she wakes to smile at him sleepily. _

'Cause I'm feelin' nervous  
Tryin' to be so perfect

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart_, evening. Melanie is showing Will her sword. He is impressed with it, and swings it in a wide arc. He returns it to her, and his fingers brush across hers. She jumps._

'Cause I know you're worth it,

You're worth it

_Scene: Tortugan street, evening. Jack pulls a bottle from inside his coat and offers it to Dana. She accepts with a shy smile and he puts his arm around her shoulders._

Yeah

_Scene: Tortugan Street, evening. Will and Melanie walk side by side down the street. They both look up in admiration at the stars overhead and then back at one another. _

If I could say what I wanna say  
I'd say I wanna blow you -

Away

_Scene: Tortugan pub, evening. Will and Melanie enter a crowded bar and hail the bartender. She hands them two mugs over the counter. Will sips his, makes a face, then takes Melanie's as she is about to drink. She laughs._

Be with you every night  
Am I squeezin' you too tight?

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart_, evening. Jack passes Dana his pistol and she places it in her empty holster. He grabs her and draws her hips close to his to examine the fit of the holster and tighten the belt. She swallows hard, and has to put a hand gingerly on his shoulder to steady herself. _

If I could see what I wanna see  
I wanna see you go down -

On one knee

_Scene: Tortugan Street, evening. Jack and Dana are walking, drinking from a bottle. A gust of wind blows her hat off. Jack snatches it out of the air and presents it to her gallantly. She smiles, and as she reaches out to accept he claps it down on her head. She laughs._

Marry me today  
Guess I'm wishin' my life away  
With these things I'll never say

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart_, afternoon. Jack and Will lean with their backs to the railing. Wordlessly, the two watch Dana and Melanie speaking up at the helm on the quarterdeck. The shirts and hair of the two women are rippling in the wind._

What's wrong with my tongue?  
These words keep slippin' away

_From the quarterdeck, Dana and Melanie look down at Jack and Will who are talking on the deck. Jack claps Will on the back._

I stutter I stumble

Like I've got nothin' to say

_Scene: Tortugan pub, evening_. _Dana and Jack scrutinize the label of a dark bottle together. They look at one another, both shrug, and Jack pulls out the cork with his teeth._

'Cause I'm feeling nervous  
Tryin' to be so perfect

_Scene: Aboard the _Dart_, evening_. _In her captain's cabin, Melanie is leaning back in her chair, asleep. Will sets a coffee mug and saucer down gently. Her eyes fly open, and she smiles when she sees him._

'Cause I know you're worth it

You're worth it

_Scene: Tortugan pub, morning_. _All four sit at a table with breakfast. They all begin to yawn at the same time, then spy each other and dissolve into laughter._

Yeah

_Scene: The _Dart_ cruising across the ocean at night. She is gently lit with lanterns on board_.

(_guitar and verbal acoustics_)

_Scene: Melanie at the helm with her hair loose in the wind. She is making adjustments and looking up at the stars. Her coat flutters._

(_guitar and verbal acoustics being played in the present moment at the _Adjective Noun_ by a band with a young, female singer. She has long, straight hair and heavy eye makeup_)

_Scene: the _Adjective Noun_, evening during the present. Melanie and (a bandaged) Dana are at the bar. They turn, smiling and chatting to one another with drinks in both hands, and are about to return to their table where Jack and Will are sitting._

Guess I'm wishin' my life away  
With these things I'll never say

_Jack and Will are at the table, deep in conversation. As Will speaks enthusiastically about something, Jack leans forward to tuck an errant strand of hair back behind Will's ear._

If I could say what I wanna say  
I'd say I wanna blow you -

_At the bar, still holding the drinks, Melanie and Dana see their friends. Their smiles disappear._

Away

_Jack's hand lingers on Will's cheek, and the blacksmith blushes and lowers his eyes. He looks up again at Jack through his dark lashes._

Be with you every night  
Am I squeezin' you too tight?

_Melanie and Dana frown. They look at one another, and Melanie raises an eyebrow. Dana shrugs._

If I could say what I wanna see  
I wanna see you go down –

On one knee

_Back at their table, Jack has let his hand fall away, but he and Will are looking at one another intently. Jack is already forward, and Will leans forward slowly. Their eyes rest on one another's lips. They move towards one another._

Marry me today  
Guess I'm wishin' my life away  
With these things I'll never say  
These things I'll never –

_The _Adjective Noun_ echoes with a single pistol shot, and the singer lets out a strangled cry before falling to the floor. The band stops. Jack and Will halt in their forward motion, startled, and look towards the bar. Melanie has set down one of her drinks and her arm and pistol are outstretched. She blows across the pistol muzzle and reholsters it. She and Dana pick up their drinks and make their way back to their table._

"That's it," Melanie said. "I'm sorry, but I can only deal with so much of this longing and teenage angst. And when it strays into the realm of Jack and Will slash, I have to put my foot down." She set the drinks on the table.

Dana set her drinks down and sat beside Will. "But fan fiction, even angsty teenage unrequited love fiction, is supposed to be fun. It lets you do interesting things to characters you love."

Melanie scoffed. "There's only one thing to do to characters you love." She reached over and grabbed Jack by the collar. She hauled him to his feet, surprised but unresisting, and kissed him squarely on the mouth. He blinked. She smiled. "Unrequited, my ass." She then turned and tugged him in the direction of the stairs up to their rooms. Jack threw a happy look back over his shoulder.

Dana and Will watched them go, then the blacksmith turned to the gunslinger. "Do you think we've reached the ridiculous again?"

Dana took a long drink from her mug. She nodded towards the stairs. "Give them about a three minute headstart, and I would say we are well on our way."


	24. Cheaters

_Author's Note - There is an extended reference to a Monty Python sketch in this chapter. If you aren't familiar with that particular British comedy troupe, hang your head! Also, thanks for reading!_

Chapter Twenty-Four - Cheaters

Dana hesitated before lifting her hand to knock on Jack's door. It wasn't necessarily that she had any reservations about what she was readying herself to ask, and it certainly wasn't as though she had any doubt as to whether or not it could be done successfully. After all, she was a pirate. Her friends were pirates. And, more than that, they were close to becoming _the_ pirates. No, it was not uncertainty that momentarily stayed the gunslinger's hand. Dana faltered because she was feeling absolutely terrible. Her – limited – vision was swimming. For the pain, Matthew had recommended heavy and frequent doses of whiskey, which she ordinarily had no problem with. But the alcohol, while dulling the shriek of the pain to a dull ache, was having the unfortunate but not entirely unforeseen effect of stripping away her balance and reflexes – not to mention exhausting her completely – and that in combination with the persistent throbbing of her head was making her miserable indeed.

But, then again, that was all part of why she was in front of Jack's door in the first place. She steadied herself and rapped, wincing in pain at the sound her knuckles made against the wood. Natural daylight was streaming into the hallway from some forsaken window, and she was forced to squint without the protective low brim of her hat. She closed her eye completely, wanting nothing more than to be in a warm dark room and sound asleep. She opened her eye only when, one step closer to her goal of dreamless oblivion, she heard movement on the other side of the door.

It swung open halfway, and Jack, shirtless, leaned blinking against the doorframe. He yawned, then inclined his head politely. "Mornin', love."

Despite her discomfort, Dana managed a smile. She was learning that it was difficult to remain in a foul mood in Jack's company, even if he had been the source of the mood to begin with. "Good morning, Jack. I need to talk to Melanie, if she's awake and she's decent."

"Awake I can vouch for," Jack replied. "But decent? Not a day in her life."

"I resent that remark!" came Melanie's voice from inside the room.

"Ah, but you resemble it, darling, you resemble it."

Jack glanced sideways as Melanie, wrapped in a white sheet, opened the door fully. Dana smirked and raised her eyebrow, but Melanie only shrugged her bare shoulders, ignoring the unspoken question. "How are you feeling?"

"Not good. That's why I'm here. I need a favor from you. It's a big one."

"What do you need, Dana?"

The gunslinger looked up and down the hallway before she fixed Melanie with as steady a gaze as she could manage. She lowered her voice. "I need us to cheat."

Melanie blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I know you understood me." Dana's head throbbed. "I said I need us to _cheat_. There are three days until we compete again. I'm worried that I'm not going to be in any better shape than this by then, and you know what Roberts said. If I kill anyone, especially by accident, I'm disqualified from the tournament."

"What do you propose to do?" asked Jack quietly.

"There are parchments that Roberts reads the events and event rules from. He keeps them at his home. I need you to find them and tell me what my next event is and what I'm going to have to do ahead of time. That way, I can prepare. I can practice."

Jack gave Dana a shrewd look. "Say you were able t' obtain the plan for the event. Would you share it with Matthew?"

Dana did not hesitate. "Of course. I would gladly share whatever we learned, even with my competition. I want to be fair – I want to beat Matthew in a fair test of our abilities. But to make things fair right now, I need to know what to expect." She blinked her single blue-grey eye, and her voice was hoarse. "_I refuse to be disqualified_."

Melanie looked at Jack. "What do you think?"

"I think that I will never understand the sense of fair-play to which you ladies seem to subscribe." He sighed, and folded his arms. "But I also think that if you and that winning little waif Carly team up together, Melanie, there's no item on this good green earth that won't end up in your greedy pockets."

"There's only one problem," Dana said. "But it's a big one, too. I don't know where Roberts lives."

"Oh, that's easy." Jack waved his hand. "I can tell you that. He lives in Saint-Domingue on Rue Martine, in the same district as Tess' End." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Apparently, the rogue has been known to break worthy pirates out of jail before their execution."

Dana grinned, relieved, but it was Melanie's turn to give Jack a shrewd look. "And just how did you learn that?" Jack adopted the most innocent of guises.

"Roberts has close to a dozen serving girls. Some of them become rather talkative. Eventually."

The gunslinger smiled. "And just how do we feel about that, Melanie?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter how I feel about it. What matters is how Jack is _going_ to feel about it."

Jack would have turned to Melanie to protest, but he found the cold point of her little dagger at his throat. He sighed. "It's like I barely know you at all, dear captain."

Dana chuckled, softly, the better to not aggrieve her pounding head. "I'm just impressed that she can produce a boot dagger without wearing any boots."

"She's hiding more than boot daggers, believe me."

Melanie smiled and slipped the knife back into the folds of her sheet. "All right. I'll find Carly and we'll get you what information we can." Her face softened as she looked at Dana carefully. "In the meantime, go get some rest. We need you."

"And I you," Dana answered. "Get me that parchment."

Jack saluted as Melanie padded off down the hallway in her bare feet and towards her own room. Dana watched her go, then also turned to leave, but Jack stopped her with a touch on the shoulder.

"You aren't feeling well," he said gently. "Stay."

Dana started to roll her eyes, then winced and stopped. Jack put his bare arm around her shoulders. It was very warm. "Come on," he said. "I don't bite, love."

"That surprises me." Dana allowed Jack to lead her into his room. He quietly closed the door behind them as Dana sat on the stripped bed and fought the weight of her pain and utter exhaustion. Jack stretched out on his back beside her, and coaxed her into his arms. She hesitated, then lay back. Jack Sparrow was many things, but, most importantly, at the moment he was warm and smelled pleasantly of exotic cologne. He was also a friend. Dana closed her eye.

In the crook of Jack's arm, with her feverish cheek against his chest, it was not long before she was soundly asleep. Jack lay looking at the ceiling and listening to the rise and fall of her quiet breathing for long time. He stroked her hair, careful to avoid her bandage, and wondered just what he was going to do with a half-blind gunslinger.

* * *

When Melanie had redressed – and resecured her myriad of little knives and hidden weapons – she found Carly's room in the _Adjective Noun_ and knocked on the door. The waif opened it with a smile. "Hi, Captain!"

"Hello, Carly. Are you busy right now?"

"No, not at all – come in."

Melanie entered the girl's sunny room and closed the door behind her. At the bureau, Milton was perched in front of the mirror and meticulously brushing his fur with a small polished brush. Had Melanie not known what she did about Milton, she might have been shocked. As it was, she simply smiled at him in the mirror, and he chattered back politely.

The captain of the _Dart_ sat down on Carly's bed. She noted, again without surprise, that Carly had removed all of the sheets and blankets in order to make a cozy nest on the floor, one similar to that which she used on the ship. _Creatures of habit_, thought Melanie with a small smile.

Her smallest crewmember was watching her with bright eyes. Milton, too, had turned to offer her an inquisitive tilt of the head. "How can we help you, Captain? We still have three days until we compete, don't we?"

Melanie nodded. "We do, and that's actually a good thing. Dana came to speak to me this morning."

"Oh really? How is she?"

"She might be down for now, but she's not out of this thing. That's why I'm here. Losing her eye has made her worried about the final shooting competition."

Carly's eyes were large with worry. "She's still going to compete, isn't she?"

Melanie smiled. "Of course. Dana might just be as tenacious as I am. She still wants to try compete against Matthew, but if her eye is going to affect her performance, she wants to know beforehand. What she's worried about is hurting someone." Carly was nodding now.

"So we need to find the event parchment. We need to tell her what she has to do."

"Exactly."

Carly gave her captain a shrewd look. "Is she going to tell Matthew, too?"

"She is. She wants to be fair."

That brightened the waif. After all, she was a member of a team that was just as close to victory as her captain's. "No problem, then. What do we have to do?"

"Not much, really. All we need to do is travel to the capital, where one of the world's most notorious pirates lives across the street from one of the world's most notorious pirate jails, and break into his house."

Carly grinned, and Milton leapt to her shoulder. "Well, if we can't win the QuatriPirate Tournament after this, no one can."

The captain and the waif left for Saint-Domingue immediately. They told no one else where they were going, and they brought nothing with them. There was no need. Their most valuable instruments were permanently affixed, and any other tools that might have been necessary were already a part of their attire – thieves, successful thieves, are forever watchful for opportune moments, and forever prepared: buttons hid lock picks, seams concealed metal files, and everywhere on their garments were pockets. They would have no trouble.

They hired an expensive coach pulled by twin black stallions. Carly and Milton climbed in first, and before she entered, Melanie placed an additional, heavy pouch in the driver's hand. She squeezed his shoulder. "We need speed, and we don't need questions." He nodded and touched his forelock politely.

Saint-Domingue was not far away, and it seemed closer when approached at the breakneck pace at which the driver kept his stallions. Inside the plush coach, Melanie and Carly were rocked as the carriage bounced over the uneven road. Carly regarded her captain warmly. "Are you excited for the event?"

Melanie grinned. "I am. Are you?"

Carly nodded. "It's going to be fun. And don't worry. We've talked about it, and none of us will have hard feelings if you, Will, Jack, and Dana win instead of us."

"If?"

The waif's brown eyes sparkled. "If," she agreed.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the ground floor of the _Adjective Noun_, Will and Jack were welcoming the evening while reclining at their customary table. They had started by discussing Dana's plans to cheat in order to practice for her event, and had been there for rather a long time – dinner had come and gone and the bar had already filled with the customary chaos of the evening crowd, but Jack wanted to ensure that he remained in peak form for his drinking competition against Jones, and had installed himself more or less permanently at the table.

At least, that was what Will assumed after having watched Jack methodically consume bottle after bottle of rum that afternoon and evening. Nevertheless, it came as something of a surprise when an obviously already drunk Jack produced one of the same mystery bottles of clear liquid that he and Chazz had been challenged to drink with during their own event. Without pausing, Jack pulled the cork and tipped the bottle to his lips. The bitter smell of the drink reached Will's nose, and he cleared his throat.

"Where did you get that?"

"Hmm?" Jack lowered the bottle. He looked at it, almost surprised to see it. He turned it over. "This? Roberts gave it to me for a job well done."

"Did he?"

"Well, I had done a good job, and the bottle was on the table where I had done that good job."

Will nodded. "Ah."

Jack took a second long pull. He coughed. "Decent stuff," he croaked.

"Don't you think that you should take it easy on that, Jack? I mean, Roberts never exactly clarified what was in it."

The pirate shrugged and sipped again. "I'm on vacation."

Will laughed. "Vacation?"

"Well, as close to vacation as I'd ever like to get." Jack drank again. "I mean, the point of going abroad, if you're just going to be treated like a sheep?" Will raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry?"

"Carted around in buses, surrounded by sweaty mindless oafs from Ketchin and Conventry, with their clothed backs and their cardigans and their transistor radios, complaining about the tea, 'Oh, they don't make it properly, do they?'"

Will blinked. Jack went on, more loudly. "And stopping at endless Majorcan bodegas selling fish and chips and Rodney's Red Barrel and calamaries and toothache. And sitting in their cotton sun frocks, squirting Timothy White sun cream all over their puffy, raw, swollen, purulent flesh, 'cos they overdid it on the first day."

Jack stood up suddenly. He swayed, came dangerously close to losing his feet, then caught himself and continued, even louder. "Being herded into countless Hotel Miramars and Bellevues, Continentals with their international luxury modern roomettes and swimming pools full of draft Red Barrel and fat German businessmen pretending to be acrobats –"

Will cleared his throat. "Jack?"

"– and forming pyramids and frightening the children and barging into cues!" He pointed at Will. His eyes were slightly unfocused. "And if you're not at your table spot on at seven you miss your bowl of Campbell's Cream of Mushroom soup, the first item on the menu of International Cuisine!" He drank again.

"Jack!"

"And every Thursday night there's bloody cabaret in the bar, featuring some tiny emaciated _dego_ with nine-inch hips, and some fat bloated tart with her hair Brill-creamed down and a big ass, presenting Flamenco for Foreigners!"

Will stood. "Jack, I think you should sit down."

Instead of sitting, Jack climbed up onto the table and started to shout. "And once a week there's an excursion to local Roman remains, where you can buy Cherry Aid and melted ice cream and bleedin' Rodney's red Barrel. And one night they take you to a typical restaurant with local atmosphere and colour and you sit next to a party from Relu who keeps singing, 'I love the Costa Brava! I love the Costa Brava!'" Jack kicked his feet and held up an imaginary showgirl skirt. "And you get corned by some drunken green grocer from Luton with an Insta-matic camera and last night's Tuesday express –"

"Jack! Shut up!"

"– and he's on and on and on about it is running the country and how many languages Margaret Powell can speak, and she throws up all over the _cuba libres_! And spending four days on the tarmac at Luton airport on a five-day package tour with nothing to eat but dry Finnish Airway sandwiches –"

Several heads had turned and the general conversation had quieted. Will tried to seize Jack's arm and haul him down, but Jack leapt onto another table, startling the pirates seated there, and continued.

"– and you can't even get a glass of Rodney's Red Barrel because you're still in England and the bloody bar closes every time you're thirsty." Jack walked casually along the table, kicking off glasses and plates. Will kept pace. "And the kids are crying and vomiting and breaking the plastic ashtrays. They keep telling you you'll only be another hour, but you know damn well your plane is still in Iceland, because it had to turn back, trying to take a party of Swedes to Yugoslavia!"

Jack took a swig from the nearly empty bottle and leapt nimbly to the next long table. "Of course it loads you up at three a.m. in the morning. And then y' sit on the tarmac for four hours because of unforeseen difficulties, i.e. the permanent strike of air traffic control over Paris." He kicked off a skinny man's plumed hat before going on. "When you finally get to Malaga airport, everybody's cueing for the bloody toilet and cueing for the bloody half-customs officers and cueing for the bloody bus that isn't there, waiting to take you to the hotel that hasn't yet been built!"

Will made a swipe for Jack's arm and missed. "Jack!"

From the last table it was a short jump onto the bar itself. Amidst surprised shouts, Jack strolled along the bartop, upending mugs into the laps of the pirates seated there. "When you finally get to the half-built Algerian ruin called the Hotel Limassol, while paying half the holiday money to a licensed Spaniard in a taxi, there's no water in the bath –" he kicked off another man's hat, "– there's no water in the tap –" he kicked a cigar out of a man's mouth, "– there's only a bleedin' lizard in the _bidet_, and half the rooms are doublebooked, and you can't sleep anyway because of the permanent construction in the jungles and on the hotel next door!"

As Will looked on, Jack raised his bottle and his voice to toast the room. "Meanwhile, the Spanish Tourist Board promises the raging cholera epidemic is merely a mild outbreak of the Spanish Tummy, rather like the previous outbreak in 1616, and even the bloody rats are dying from it!"

And with that, Jack passed out completely and fell off the bar.

As several serving girls rushed to see if Jack was all right, Will only sighed. It seemed that his teammates were not the only ones who were cheating today.

Apparently it was all right for authors to pinch Monty Python sketches for their own devious devices as well.


	25. Tess' End

Chapter Twenty-Five – _Tess' End_

As the first capital city on the mainland, Saint-Domingue was a sprawling place of absolutely mammoth proportions. Melanie and Carly's coach may have arrived in the early evening, but it was well into the night when they finally halted at Rue Martine – they had nearly been consumed amongst the winding brick roads and narrow cobblestone streets, and on one heart-stopping occasion, the driver had admitted that he was completely lost. They arrived safely at their destination, however, no matter how far into the night they had progressed. As Carly and Melanie climbed out of the cab and onto the silent street, Melanie took advantage of the fact that the driver felt awful for taking up so much of their time. The man well understood who it was that he was ferrying from city to city, and Melanie intended to make his services worthwhile.

She pulled him aside. He immediately began to apologize again, but she silenced him with a severe look. "Listen. I won't lie to you and deny that you've cost us some time. But if you remain here until we are finished and then return us, you'll earn yourself a handsome bonus and all is forgiven." Grateful for another chance, the driver agreed without hesitation. He pulled the coach into a dark alleyway to watch and to wait. Melanie was satisfied.

She turned to Carly. "This is Rue Martine," she said. "Now we have to find where Roberts lives." Wordlessly, Carly raised her finger to point, and Melanie turned to look. All up and down the road were ramshackle houses and rundown brick buildings that looked as though they had seen better days. There were only two exceptions that stood out in the rather bleak landscape: further up the street and to the left was a massive stone building, flanked on all side by iron gates and armed soldiers; some distance further and to the right was a handsome colonial house, one of the only homes on Rue Martine in which lanterns were burning.

Melanie smiled. "It looks like we have our heading."

Even in the dark, it was clear that Roberts made berth in a lovely home. Exquisite samples from some of the most beautiful places in the world adorned his walls and rooms: Melanie and Carly walked carefully amongst gleaming vases from the far East, shining gold statues from Egypt, and smooth ebony carvings from Africa. However, even in the dark, it was also clear that Roberts believed the best protection his home had against the curious was simple anonymity – he simply had not expected anyone to associate this home with his name. With the exception of his – laughably – locked door, the only preventative measure that Melanie and Carly encountered was a pair of jet-black guard dogs with spiked collars. They turned into joyful, wriggling puppies at Carly's feet, however, and the waif nodded at her captain to continue on while she entertained them. Milton leapt to Melanie's shoulder to be of assistance.

With the capuchin's warm tail curled around her neck, Melanie crept from room to room. She gingerly touched doorknobs and crept past open doors. She was searching for something that would resemble Roberts' study, or the equivalent of a captain's cabin in this immobile ship, but creeping from room to room in the dim house, Melanie was increasingly unsettled by the motionless view outside of the many windows. Living in a house, she decided, even one as posh as this one, or as classy as one that she was certain she could fill with her own souvenirs, was simply not an acceptable way for her to live.

She absentmindedly stroked Milton's fur as she cast about inside another room. No, she could not settle in a house. Even now, she wondered how it was that her sister, Carine, could move so easily between life in her pub in Port Royal and life on the ocean with the _Yellow Dart_. There was something about how static life on land was, how obscenely _monotonous_ it was, that jarred Melanie. She had to keep moving. She had to keep changing. She had to keep searching.

With the opening of another door, however, it seemed that she could at least stop searching for the moment. She entered a dark room with a large window, and gazed around, enthralled – all of the walls were absolutely plastered with maps. More sat spread and rolled on the vast wooden desk in the center of the room, and piles were rolled and stacked in the corners. It was simply lovely.

With a happy little chirrup, Milton sprang off of her shoulder and began to pick through the papers. Melanie walked around in something of a daze while Milton searched for their event parchment. She lifted a map here and there, marveling at the sheer volume that Roberts had managed to collect. Was this impressive collection simply Inigo's, or was it a compliment to the entire Dread Pirate persona? All corners of the world seemed represented here, and it was all she could do not to lift one or two for her own collection. She made a note to ask Inigo whether or not he could remember the Dread Pirate Roberts ever having been a woman. Maybe it was time.

Thinking of women, Melanie stopped before the study's large window. From it, she had an excellent view of the ominous bulk of _Tess' End_. It loomed squat and foreboding in the darkness, housing both pirates and the records on paper which boasted of their exploits or condemned them, depending on one's outlook. Before the commodore had met his end, hadn't he said something about it being 'impossible' that the infamous Captain Cash was a woman? Melanie was glad her name was being spread through the right circles, but it did her no good if everyone thought that Cash was a man. Might her record have something to do with that?

Milton chattered at her suddenly, and she turned. He was hopping up and down excitedly – he had unearthed a bundle of four rolled parchments collected together with a silk thread. "Thank you, Milton," she said. The capuchin warbled happily and scampered back on to her shoulder. He was eager to lean forward and examine the paper with her, and Melanie carefully untied the thread and set it on Roberts' desk. She hesitated for a moment with her fingers hovering over the scroll marked _Thief_, fighting the urge to unroll it and learn the fate of her own event. Milton waited, watchful. But after a moment, Melanie put that parchment to the side. She glanced at the little monkey. "It's because Carly said _if_," she explained. Milton regarded her with merry black eyes. He might have been smiling.

Melanie selected the slim parchment marked _Shot_ and unrolled it carefully. She wanted only to peek inside at the instructions and avoid unrolling it entirely, but there seemed to be nothing on the paper. She spread it on the desk completely, frowning. There was only one word written on it, in the very center of the parchment, in elegantly inked script.

_Plaza_.

There was nothing more. Melanie turned it over to examine the other side, but it was similarly smooth and clean. "I hate to think that we came all this way for nothing," she said to Milton.

Carly poked her head around the door. Melanie could hear the dogs playing happily in the hallway behind her. "Find anything?"

"I did," sighed Melanie. "But it isn't very helpful. All it says is 'plaza.'" She held up the parchment for the waif to see, then started to roll it again. She gathered the four rolls in a bundle, and secured them once more with the thread. Finally, she held them out to Milton, who hopped down onto the desk and carefully replaced them precisely where they had been, confirming that there was no end to the benefits of associating with a literate and meticulous monkey.

"There," Melanie said. "I guess we're finished in here." As she and Carly left the room, she cast a longing look over she shoulder towards _Tess' End_.

She and the waif exited the house quietly, and resecured the lock behind them. Milton hopped back onto Carly's head and used her curls to balance. "What now?" the little girl asked. There was a sly smile just behind her eyes that made Melanie helpless to do anything but smile in kind. It appeared that her attention to _Tess' End_ had not gone unnoticed.

"Well, I might as well run an errand. While we're here."

* * *

Melanie paid the carriage driver generously and told him to make haste back to Léogâne with a message for Jack Sparrow. She assured him that Jack would provide an additional bonus for his speed, and as he hurried away, she hoped that that would be the case. Regardless, with her urgent message already on its course – namely that the event in which Dana and Matthew would participate was up to fate – Melanie and Carly the waif turned their attention to the notorious _Tess' End_.

There were only a handful of ways into the prison. Apart from the obvious method of being arrested by the royal guard, there were several windows ringing the second floor of the building. The iron gate that secured the prison was actually quite low, and the guard was staggered. Under the cover of night, Melanie and Carly knew that it would not be difficult to climb into the windows undetected. They scaled a tree, easy work after the number of times they had scaled the mainmast of the _Dart_, and waited patiently until for the rotation of the guard. With one leap across to the wall, and a brief soundless clamber up to the window ledge, both pirates were inside the prison without incident.

That, they knew, had been far from the most difficult part of navigating _Tess' End_. The challenge would be to find their way around – the cells and holding areas were kept underground in an area much more fortified than that which they had been able to access so easily. It was generally known that there was no emerging from the dark depths of _Tess' End_. On the first and second floors, relatively easy to access now that they were inside, were the filed records of convicted pirates. These were what Melanie sought. She wanted to find her own personal record of crimes, her own pirate profile, and correct what appeared to be a grievous identity error: she wanted her name, in all its glorious sinfulness, to correctly belong to that of a woman. They began to search.

As it was night, the majority of personnel were no longer needed and no longer present. This did not preclude Carly and Melanie from being careful, however: they moved silently from room to room, always pausing and allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness. They moved without a sound on the soft toes of their leather boots, always keeping in mind the path back to their window in case of the need for sudden escape. Locked doors posed no obstacle to Melanie's nimble fingers and miniature lock picks, and before much time had passed they had scoured the entirety of the second floor.

They descended cautiously to the first floor. This floor was lit by infrequent lanterns that burned and sputtered in the hallways. They cast only a small amount of light, and yet provided enough shadows that Melanie and Carly did not fear exposure. They paused when they heard muffled voices speaking, but the sound was always far away. While Carly and Milton kept watch around the bend of a long hallway, Melanie inserted her lock picks into yet another locked door. She was speedily rewarded with a satisfying _click_, and upon opening the door, knew that she had found what she was looking for. She gestured for Carly to follow her inside, and the waif carefully lifted a lantern from the wall before ducking in.

Carefully, she shut and locked the door behind her. "Is this the room?" she whispered.

Melanie nodded. Her heart was in her throat, a constant thrum, because it was not every pirate that had had the opportunity to delve into the functioning core of _Tess' End_: the room was large, and contained bookcases upon bookcases of precisely recorded and organized legal documents. She walked along the rows, letting her fingers trip over the wood, and paused when she arrived at the bookcase marked with a brass _C_.

She browsed quickly through the alphabet. There were a surprisingly large amount of pirates whose names or aliases began with _Ca_. If Melanie had had more time, she would have settled in to read some of the collected pirate histories purely for interest sake. Flipping through the sheaves, her eyes glimpsed details of lives scrawled in black ink: _known dead; father of twelve; retired in France; frequently found in bawdy houses; tattooed with a spider across his cheek; guilty of treason; guilty of armed robbery; guilty of kidnapping; executed; executed; executed._

_Executed_. Melanie skipped quickly over these finalized documents. It seemed odd to her to keep so closely the records of the dead when there would never be more to add to their exploits. She smiled grimly to herself, and vowed to keep the royals pulling up her profile and adding charges for years to come. She would warrant her own bookshelf.

Melanie eventually located her own name, preceded closely by that infamously endearing and thieving girl-pirate, alias _Carly the Waif_. Melanie ushered Carly over to the bookcase so that she could see her own profile. She removed it from its place in the file eagerly. It was thick. Melanie's record, however, was nearly as thick as her finger. Carly giggled when she saw it, and patted her captain on the back. "I knew I picked the right employer," she said with a grin. Melanie winked, and skimmed the pages.

She was familiar with the majority of the charges leveled against her, as she had heard them called out in condemnation many times. Jack was not the only pirate that had been close enough to the gallows to smell the hangman's sweat and escaped unscathed. Once more, Melanie was grateful that there was no end to the benefits of associating with an intelligent primate, particularly one with a penchant for wielding boot daggers and a finesse for hacking through rope. She chuckled at some of the charges, remembering previous adventures, and pointed several out to Carly: _fraud against the Church; theft of Royal Livestock; impersonating a member of the Royal Family_. She was almost tempted to add a few of the more recent enterprises to the list, just to keep it current. Then, she found exactly that she was looking for:

_(Captain) M. Cash – attached to the _Yellow Dart_. Brown hair, brown eyes. Brand: left side of chest. Tattoos: several, most notably flag on right shoulder and script "Hoist the colours" on left shoulder. Male, born approx. - - 84_. So it was indeed that the record was inaccurate. She cast about in the dim light of the lantern for a quill, then neatly filled in an _f_ and an _e_. "There," she said. "As simple as that. If there is one thing that pirates are good at, it's upholding a name."

If Melanie's tongue had not been such a valuable tool in her career as pirate, con-artist, and feral bedroom creature, she might have bitten it: just as she replaced Carly's pages and returned the _Ca_ collection back to the bookshelf, they heard voices in the hallway, approaching the door. Carly extinguished the lantern immediately, and they both hoped that the glimmer of the light had not betrayed them from under the door. Lady luck had temporarily forsaken them, however: the voices halted outside, and there was a rattle as a key was inserted into the lock.

Blades in hand, the two pirates flew to the door and positioned themselves flat against the wall on either side. The door opened, effectively concealing Melanie, and low light spilled in from the hallway. Two uniformed men entered, chatting, with lanterns in hand. Once they were inside, Melanie slammed the door closed, and she and Carly descended on them.

But as fast as they were, one of the soldiers was faster. Both men had been taken by surprise and were unable even to conceive of drawing their weapons, but one of them – and more than likely the only one in a hundred – had been properly carrying his silver whistle, issued to blow in case of emergency. And blow he did, with his last breath, shrill, long, and loud.

Very loud.

Over the sound of the dead men hitting the floor, Melanie and Carly could hear the pounding footfalls of more running soldiers. The captain of the _Yellow Dart_ swore loudly and locked the door before it was rocked with the impact of men pounding on it from the other side. She glanced at Carly.

"This is bad."

The waif nodded grimly. Listening to the efforts of the men close on the other side, she crouched and swiped her blade suddenly and viciously under the door. There were several cries of pain as polished leather boots proved no match for shining steel. Carly's blade drew back bloody. Melanie laughed, and the sound must have infuriated the men, for the redoubled their efforts.

There were no windows in the room, and as long as the door might hold, there was no way around the fact that they had been neatly trapped. For Melanie, the worst part was not knowing how many men were outside, because attaining the outside was the only avenue of escape. In order to curtail the numbers, she drew her pistol. Carly saw her and did the same. They both backed away from the door, and started to fire as one.

Their shots blew several holes in the wood and felled several soldiers. After the initial onslaught, the shouting men grew wise to the idea and put the muzzles of their own rifles through the door, but Melanie and Carly had swiftly returning to their stances on either side of the door. They fired uselessly in the room nearly half a dozen times, making tables and chairs explode in clouds of splinters and filling the air with gunsmoke. Seeing the cloud, the two exchanged a look – _now or never_. Melanie threw open the door with a cry, and ran her blade through the first man she saw. Carly did likewise, and they managed to cut down several surprised soldiers outside the door before the others could properly react. But there were more, and more approaching.

In the smoke, Melanie booted one man in the gut and snatched at Carly's hand to lead her in the direction of the stairs to the second story. They ducked as well as they could beneath the wild swinging swords of the confused and furious guards, and Melanie cried out in pain as one blade, then another, found and bit into her shoulder. She grit her teeth and pulled Carly along behind her, and they half-ran half-stumbled down the dim hallways and up the stairs to the second floor.

Eyes streaming from the smoke and the pain, Melanie pounded down the hallway with her crewwoman in tow, and the crewwoman's monkey clinging fast to the crewwoman's neck. They found their window still open, and without hesitating, Melanie leapt out and into the tree outside _Tess' End_.

The wind was knocked from her lungs as she hit a thick branch. She gripped it tightly and swung herself up, seeing sudden stars from the pain of the gash in her shoulder. Carly followed close behind. Melanie drew her pistol as soon as she was steady, and with an effort, switched back and forth from leveling it at the window and the ground below. Both were silent and still, but even in the black branches of the tree, neither woman dared relax entirely.

_If there's another thing that pirates are good at_, thought Melanie, her lungs on fire, _it's running_. She worked to catch her breath, and could feel warm blood spreading from the wound on her shoulder. She pressed her palm to the injury, unsurprised to see it covered in blood when she pulled it away. In the darkness of the night, the blood was black. _Black as ink_, she thought. But despite the pain, she turned to grin at Carly in the dark. The waif had started to giggle.

"Let's go back in," the girl said. "I want to add that one to the list."


	26. Ladies and Gentlemen

_Author's Post-It Note - Sorry for the hiatus! Laptop difficulties = LIFE difficulties. This chapter is shortish and montage-ish (some days I would rather direct than write)._

Chapter Twenty-Six – Ladies and Gentlemen

Brass-buckled black shoes gleam beneath the rolled a pair of well-worn black pants. A loose, button-necked, white shirt hangs off of a slim frame, mirroring the colour of the skin. Against the collarbone, silver links wink. Large blue eyes blink with dusky lashes beneath a veil of dark, feathered hair. Pale fingers brush the shining silver chain with affection.

_Jones Underhill._

Low brown shoes exposing pale bare ankles. Short grey pants rolled at the knee, perhaps needless in light of the mass of gold hairs evident on the uncovered legs. A worn leather holster rests on slim hips, weighted by twin pistols, and tuck in an open-collared white shirt rolled to the elbow. Freckles canter across the forearms and nose, and eyes of shining blue smile beneath a mess of golden-blonde hair. Eyelashes brush cheek as one eye closes with a knowing wink.

_Matthew Hunter._

A floor-length, multilayered, gypsy skirt in blues and purples. A tightly laced black bodice-vest atop a cream-coloured shirt with long sleeves and open cuffs. A shining new baldric in black leather and shining brass. Shoulders graced by rippling wave of black ringlets, which are tossed with finesse. Red-brown eyes that crinkle with a coquettish grin.

_Carine Cash._

Bare brown feet and calves emerging from short and well-worn, long-since-frayed, brown pants. A slight frame concealed by a billowing long-sleeved white shirt with an appropriately sized baldric over one shoulder. Bell-shaped cuffs which cleverly and completely cover nimble brown fingers. A nest of brown curls with a black and white furry resident. Two pairs of shining dark eyes, more cunning and knowing than their appearance or youth could possibly account for.

_Carly the Waif_.

Shining brass buckled shoes and slightly prudish knee-high gray socks. Dark gray pants, gathered at the knee. A long-sleeved white shirt with buttoned cuffs beneath the soft fabric of a brown and silver patterned vest. One baldric, repeatedly resecured and refastened due to nerves. Thick brown hair, carefully and neatly bound with a strip of fabric into a short ponytail. A furrowed brow, and a deep breath.

_William Turner._

Shining black leather boots to the knee and buckled across the ankle. Flared grey pants belted with brown leather. Twin holsters with gleaming brass eyelets, heavy with one pistol by profession and one pistol by victory. A long-sleeved blue silk blouse with silver buttons and an open collar. Chin-length waves of red-brown hair capped with a black leather hat. The brim pulled low over one black-patched eye, exposing the remaining one as steel-grey.

_Dana Flint._

Moderately-heeled leather boots that graze the knee. Black pleated skirt reaching the middle of the thigh, belted with a silk scarf of deepest violet. A form-fitting bodice of black and purple laced securely at the front, atop a cream-coloured short-sleeved blouse. A well-worn baldric, carefully positioned to avoid a concealed but firmly bandaged shoulder. Shining russet plait hanging down the middle of the back and garnished with an infamous tricorn. Merry brown-black eyes, and a sly smile in anticipation of the purest joy.

_Captain Melanie Cash._

Soft, brown, pliable leather boots, cuffed to the knee and folded low over themselves. Worn grey pants, cinched securely at the waist with a length of red and white striped cloth. A frayed brown-black vest topping a long-sleeved white shirt with a low neck, open to expose skin and catch breeze. Brown leather baldric, fastened over the shoulder with a worn brass buckle. A neat chaos of dreadlocks, woven through with bone and bead and coin, partially held at bay by a scarlet scarf. Kohl-rimmed eyes to battle the glare of the sun and, frankly, to entrance the unwary. A smirk.

_Captain Jack Sparrow._

Dawn.

The day of the third round.


	27. Round Three

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Round Three

To say that it was unusual for pirates to rise with the dawn would be akin to commenting that mermaids make poor tax collectors – certain ideas are simply never associated, and often with good reason. Pirates never rose with the dawn. Pirates would frequently remain awake _until_ dawn, holding over from some impressive marathon of drinking or fighting or something more enclosed within the four walls of darkened room. But it was rare to never that one would see them wake with the sun in order to prepare for the coming day, as opposed to offering it a farewell salute.

It was this strange sight that met the _Adjective Noun_ in the early morning of the third round and final round of events in the QuatriPirate Tournament. An uncharacteristically subdued group of pirates shuffled to Roberts' enormous dining table in the empty tavern. There was nothing for them to do but sit, as none of the serving girls were yet awake or dressed. Melanie did not hesitate to hop behind the bar and rummage through the mugs and wares for coffee, earning immediate and utter gratitude from everyone present. Soon there was a fragrant pot made, and each of the eight pirates seated around the table was handed a steaming mug.

"Do you know what I like?" said Carly, breaking the silence. All eyes met the girl with the curly hair and the capuchin which was still sleeping against her neck. "I like the fact that no matter what happens today, some of the people here – all of whom I love and love to work with – will be declared the greatest pirates in current history." She smiled winningly. "I think that's worth something."

Melanie laughed good-naturedly. "Carly, you really don't have to keep on with this adorable act." She winked. "We all know who you are, and I know for a fact that you are just as bloodthirsty and competitive as the rest of us."

Carly grinned. "But that doesn't mean that I can't be happy for my friends. Even if we don't win, we'll be working with the champions of the QuatriPirate Tournament. What vessel could refuse me?"

"Why, are you planning on leaving the _Yellow Dart_?"

It was Carly's turn to wink. "You have my permission to keel-haul me if I ever so much as think those words."

Melanie took a ginger sip of her hot coffee. "Noted."

Outside the large windows at the front of the _Adjective Noun_, the emerging sun was creeping across the sky with orange and purple fingers. In the strange silence of the tavern, the friends and crew of the _Yellow Dart_ could hear the morning calls of little songbirds. It was odd to be reminded that any other birds existed, because for the longest time, the pirates had associated only with the two polar opposites of bird kind – the shining, clever crow and the stubborn, dim-witted gull. It was interesting to hear proof of the life outside of the ocean and of piracy on a day when their singular commitment to that life was to be tested.

The morning passed in amiable quiet, steeling itself against the certain chaos of the afternoon.

The final events of the QuatriPirate Tournament drew such a crowd to the _Adjective Noun_ that Roberts had to make his announcements to the audience while standing on a crate outside of the bar. "Greetings, friends!" he shouted, and all present roared and cheered to hear him. None of the pirates gathered had been able to forget that Roberts' full name and occupation was that of Dread Pirate, and they knew that in theory, if any of them were to have encountered him and his ship _Revenge_, they would have been as fair game as the merchant vessels they preyed upon themselves. For the moment, however, it thrilled them to bask in his celebrity, and to see up close the man – or one of the men – who had quickened hearts with fear for so many years. "Welcome to these final events of the QuatriPirate Tournament! Today, one of these two groups of rogues will prove itself be the best of the best! Shall we begin?"

The crowd cheered and applauded madly. From their position in front of Roberts' makeshift podium, Dana and Melanie could see a large number of the men with whom they had celebrated at the _Wailing Widow_, and Will recognized several of the women who had been in the front of the crowd to witness his victory against Westley. He smiled, and then jumped as one of them fainted dead away. Roberts unrolled his parchment and continued. "To set things in motion, I will begin with the final event. Jones Underhill and Jack Sparrow, I will set you at your table to begin to drink for the entirety of the afternoon. This contest is one of sheer amount – you will both sit at the table and drain bottles of rum. The winner is he who finishes the most! Please enter!"

The crowd whooped to hear of such a beautifully simple event. Jones embraced his teammates before disappearing inside the _Adjective Noun_, and Jack turned to Melanie, Will, and Dana. "I wish you luck, mates," he said. He squeezed Melanie's arm. "Destroy that adorable bundle of cuteness and curly-haired charm." He turned to Dana. "My cycloptic darling, do not fear the unknown. Simply shoot the bullocks off of it." Jack paused before Will. "And you, lad. There is only one thing you need do to snatch victory from that winsome little Cash." He leaned forward and spoke into the blacksmith's ear. "Think like a pirate." And with that, Jack Sparrow was gone to face his new enemy, Jones Underhill, with the assistance of his greatest ally, golden sugarcane rum. The remaining three wished him silent if mostly unnecessary luck, and Roberts began to speak once more.

"To the plaza of Léogâne!" he cried.

* * *

Dana Flint did not have nightmares. She had frequent and intensely vivid dreams, but because there were precious few things in waking life that could strike absolute fear into the stone heart of a crack-shot gunslinger for hire, there was nothing that she could dream about which was fearsome enough to wake her with a cold sweat. The shooting event of the third round of the QuatriPirate Tournament, however, would forever have the dubious honor of being her first recurring nightmare.

Dana and Matthew were blindfolded, and led by Roberts to the top of the clocktower in the central plaza of Léogâne. In what was essentially the town square, a busy swarm of citizens bustled about on their daily business. Scattered among them were the audience and other competitors of the QuatriPirate Tournament with their faces uplifted to the pair of gunslingers. When Roberts removed her blindfold at the windy top of the tower, Dana could recognize several of her friends. She swallowed hard. They looked very far away.

"As I mentioned before," said Roberts. "This event will be a test of your speed and especially your accuracy." He hesitated, then glanced at Dana. "Dana Flint, once more, I express regret for what was allowed to happen to you in my own tavern, and if you wish to decline to participate in this event –"

Dana cut him off. "– and once more, I assure you that I will be just fine." She had done her best to keep the venom in her words to a minimum, recognizing that Roberts meant no disrespect. She had recently realized, with distaste, that this delicate, almost pitying, reaction to the sight of her eye patch in contrast to her pistols was going to be something she would have to deal with for a very long time. Matthew smiled, glad to see that this fiery woman had not lost her passion for her talent and her profession. He would have his work cut out for him.

"As you wish. As I was saying, and as I explained below for the benefit of our audience, this event will test your accuracy and your speed. You must complete it very quickly, so as not to incite a panic, and you must be careful of your aim. I remind you – if you kill someone, you are disqualified." He smiled behind his black mask. "Know also that your companions are here and vulnerable in the plaza, and so be especially wary of straying bullets. Are you ready?"

Both gunslingers nodded. They readied their pistols in one hand, and extra shot in the other. Dana squinted down at the plaza, looking everywhere and trying to take everything in at once. This was to be a test of sight, of memory and accuracy. Roberts, equipped with an eyeglass, was to name them a series of targets, which they were meant to shoot instantaneously and safely. Hesitation would cost them, as would inaccuracy. The gunslinger with the most points after such a rapidfire event would be declared the winner. Dana licked her lips. "Then we begin!" cried Roberts. Matthew and Dana pulled back the hammers on their pistols and extended their arms, keen to start.

"Dana!" Roberts barked, spyglass to his eye. "The eyes of the royal portrait being lifted from the back of the caravan!" Dana's eye flicked to the caravan and the portrait. She fired twice, quickly, and neatly punched out the monarch's glowering visage. "_Strike_!" said Roberts. Dana smiled, and her heart slowed slightly. She could do this.

"Matthew! The second silver bell on the silver smith's table!" There was an immediate crack as the _Dart's_ physician fired, and Dana heard the faint ring of an explosion of bell. "_Strike_!" cried Roberts.

"Dana! The silk fan that has escaped the woman in pink sitting on the fountain!" _Strike_.

"Matthew! The _Collected Works of Shakespeare_ out of the priest's hand!" _Strike_.

"Dana! The pocketwatch out of the hand of the man with white gloves!" _Strike_.

"Matthew! The little finger of the white glove behind waved by the woman in the cream and gold wagon!" Matthew fired. "_Miss_! Matthew, that was the fourth finger of the glove!" Matthew swore as he reloaded.

"Dana! The cigar out of the fat cheesemaker's mouth!" _Strike._

"Matthew! Both sides of the man with the red moustache!" Matthew chuckled. _Strike_.

"Dana! Light the match in the hand of the man with the cigarette in his mouth, beside the roses!" _Strike_.

"Two more! Matthew! The silver cufflink off of the sleeve of the driver in grey!" _Strike_.

"Last one – Dana Flint wins if she does not miss! Shoot the trigger of the royal guard's rifle! Make it fire!"

Dana leveled her pistol at the man in question and was about to fire. Then she looked again, more closely. She stopped suddenly, and had to seize up the muscles in her arm to prevent herself from firing. "No, Roberts." Matthew turned to look at her, puzzled.

"What? Dana, you may not hesitate! You are a single bullet away from victory! Fire! _Fire!_"

"Look again, Roberts!" Dana cried. "See where the man's gun is aimed! If his rifle goes off, _he strikes a child!_"

Roberts raised his eyeglass again, then lowered it silently. Both Dana and Matthew were bathed in sweat and breathing hard. Their event had taken less than a minute to complete, if it was indeed complete. Dana had not moved or lowered her arm, though she did not fire. Her arm was trembling.

When Roberts spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I did not see that," he said quietly. He looked at Dana, and the gunslinger slowly lowered her weapon. "I did not see," he repeated. He looked back towards the plaza. "You might have killed someone because of me."

"It was a test," Dana said. The breeze was rapidly cooling the sweat on her brow, and she was grateful for the low brim of her hat to protect her eye from the glaring sun. "It was my job to pass it."

"Yes, yes of course." Roberts seemed to be in a daze, and Matthew grasped his shoulder.

"It was an honest mistake, one that anyone might have made." He regarded the man steadily with eyes of the clearest and most serious blue. "You will learn from this," he said firmly. Roberts took a breath, and drew himself up with a nod.

"Yes," he said. "This event is over. Dana Flint is the victor."

Dana grinned, and shook the hand of a Matthew gallant in defeat. Roberts, too, shook her hand in congratulations, and shook his head. "I am grateful for you here," he said. "And I apologize for my underestimation. I could not have known that a woman with one eye would be able to see more clearly than I with two."

* * *

The champion of shot in the QuatriPirate Tournament descended the tower to grins and handshakes. The pirates would applaud later, gathered safely between the walls of the _Adjective Noun_, but for now they offered congratulations in silence, ensuring low profiles were kept in the public space under the watchful eye of the royal guard.

Seeing Dana return, smiling as widely as she was, both Melanie and Carly grinned and waved. They then shook hands with one another, and shook hands with Roberts. Melanie leaned forward, still smiling, and put her hand on Roberts' slim waist to say something into his ear that Dana could not hear. When Roberts laughed and clapped Melanie roughly on the shoulder, Dana thought she saw the captain of the _Yellow Dart_ wince briefly, but then both thieves disappeared into the milling crowd of people.

Roberts had previously explained the details of this final test in thievery, and their task was as blissfully simple as that of Jones and Jack, back drinking bottle after bottle at the _Adjective Noun_: Melanie and Carly had two minutes to find and return with the most valuable thing or things in the plaza.

Still beaming from her win, Dana looked around the plaza and wondered what she would steal if she had been the thief. It went without saying that while several of the vendors sold genuine goods and not makeshift copies, there was little to be found in a market that was of great value. Léogâne was indeed a port town, and as such was in the unique position of acting as a filter to the mainland of the majority of ships and travelers that weighed anchor on the coast, but the great amount of the most exotic and expensive goods would have either moved on to the capital, or never made it to shore to begin with.

Dana moved her attention to the handful of lords and ladies who were out in the sun taking in the afternoon air. Several of the women wore sparkling baubles and carried hefty purses, but Dana did not think it worth the effort needed to lift them. If Melanie or Carly were to be so foolish as to steal gold coins, the amount would have to be mammoth so as to cover the potentially high value of whatever the other had managed to steal. The gunslinger looked about, not knowing what she would deem most worthy of her theoretical talents as a thief. That was most likely why she worked more with bullets – pockets were far easier to search when their owner was cooling around them.

She turned back to Roberts in time to see a breathless and smiling Carly return with a little bundle in her arms, but she was curiously missing her capuchin. Seconds later, a radiant Melanie joined her. They smiled at one another, and Dana moved closer so that she could see what they presented.

"Carly the Waif," said Roberts. "What have we here?"

Carly giggled and unwrapped the little pink blanket. Sleeping in her arms was a tiny dozing dog in an extravagantly jeweled collar. Roberts raised his eyebrows. "What, exactly, is that?" Instead of replying, Carly held a finger to her lips. She listened carefully, and motioned that Roberts should do the same.

Suddenly, from the other side of the plaza, there was a bloodcurdling shriek. When Dana looked, through the crowd of people she saw one of the noble ladies scream and drop her bag. "My dog!" she screeched. Out of the bag bounded Milton, who scrambled up the terrified woman's expensive dress to give her a kiss on the cheek. As she fainted dead away, the little monkey escaped into the crowd, and covertly found his way back to his mistress.

The little crowd that had gathered around Roberts and the thieves applauded. Milton chittered happily while the impish Carly smiled and dropped a curtsy. She then turned and deposited the dog in the arms of a little peasant boy who had stopped to watch the commotion. "Go earn yourself a piece of silver," she said to him with a wink, and the boy trundled away towards the lord and lady.

"Well done," said Roberts. "Well done indeed."

It was Melanie's turn, and judging by the reaction of the crowd, Dana guessed that her find out have to be of immense value to beat Carly. Melanie grinned, and pulled a section of fabric out of her pocket to present to Roberts.

Roberts frowned. "What is this?" Helpless to contain her mirth, Melanie started to laugh until tears rolled down her cheeks. Giggling, she carefully unfolded the fabric until it she held it up in its full glory.

It was a pair of underpants.

At that moment, the portly lord who had bent to assist the unconscious and traumatized lady bent forward, then clapped his hand to his behind with a bellow. The crowd around Roberts roared with laughter, and laughed harder when the flustered and blushing man refused to tell the concerned people that had surrounded him what exactly his problem was. He kept backing up until his bottom hit the wall of a building, and Melanie was applauded handsomely.

Roberts stroked his chin. "This is very interesting, as you have both stolen something of great value at great risk." He was frowning, deep in thought, when Melanie leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Roberts listened, and then looked shocked.

"Melanie Cash is the winner!" he declared suddenly. There was scattered and confused applause – what had separated the two thieves? Melanie whispered into Carly's ear, and the girl burst out laughing. She then shook Melanie's hand, apparently happy to concede the victory.

When the crowd began to murmur amongst themselves, Roberts sighed. "You may as well show them," he said. A very pink Melanie extracted another item from her pocket, and sheepishly unfolded it to display to an audience that began to crow with laughter.

They were the Dread Pirate Roberts' underpants.

* * *

When everyone returned to the _Adjective Noun_, Will, Dana, and Melanie were all pleased to see that both Jack and Jones were still running strong. The two men were sitting at the group's traditional table in the back corner, chatting and laughing warmly and taking frequent swallows of rum from their bottles. On the tables and floor beside them were nearly twenty empty bottles. It seemed that the two were nearly evenly matched.

As many spectators filled the tavern as was possible, and the doors were propped open so that those outside could still hear the progress of the events inside. And the third of those events was about to begin. Roberts climbed to the wooden stage on which Carine and Will had both squared off with other contenders once before. It was now their turn to battle one another. Roberts called them to his side, and after both Dana and Melanie gave him a squeeze, Will strode forward to meet his destiny.

His destiny seemed to be in an unusually good mood – Carine was always sunny and friendly, but now she seemed positively beside herself. She had never kept it a secret from Will that she liked him. He frequented her pub in Port Royal as it was, honestly, the best in the district, and for this Carine was flattered. She flirted with Will shamelessly and unrelentingly and it was not occasionally that she bent to check on the progress of his meal with a wickedly low-necked shirt. Seeing Will climb now to the stage to duel with her, Carine was grinning hugely.

"Aw, fine Will," she said with mock-finality. "I do wish th' things didn't 'ave to end this way."

"No matter what happens," said Will with a smile, "you'll still see me at the _Poco_ for breakfasts."

Roberts held up his hands. "We now begin this third event of the third round of the QuatriPirate Tournament! Competitors, your task simply this: disarm your opponent. No blindfolds, no memorization, and no deaths! The event is not over until one blade lies on the ground! Are you ready?" The crowd cheered, happy to witness what promised to be a winning demonstration of pure and undiluted swordsman – or woman – ship. Will unsheathed his blade, and beaming, Carine did the same. Eyes on one another, they both nodded.

"Then _begin_!"

Carine Cash and William Turner carefully circled one another. Still smiling, Carine attempting to strike first – she spun about, skirts whirling, and brought her blade down savagely. Will caught it neatly, but tried to conceal his surprise at the amount of power behind the blade. Though he had witnessed it already himself, it was clear that this young woman was dastardly good with a sword. She also knew that she was. The crowd roared as Carine quickly forced Will on the defensive. He was continually pushed to retreat and to parry her rapid thrusts to either side. He leapt left and right as she swung at him, attempting to jar his blade from his hands by sheer force.

Will started to sweat. He was certain that he would not tire before she did, although he knew that he would do well to stop assuming things about lovely ladies because they were liable to split him in half with an errant slice of their singing blade. Will dodged again, and tossed his sword into the air. The crowd gasped, but he had only been switching from his right to his left hand. For a moment, the change seemed to disorient Carine and he was able to successfully force her to retreat for one or two steps. Then she smirked, and switched hands herself.

Will was impressed in spite of himself, but as his and Carine's blade met again and again, he remembered that this was no inconsequential swordfight. He was not fighting for his life, but for something perhaps even greater than that. He wanted to win, he wanted _so badly_ to win, because if he did, he knew that he would be able to say definitively to himself and to anyone and everyone else, that he was not a blacksmith with a pirate brand but a true pirate. And that was precisely what he wanted from his tournament. As he narrowly avoiding losing his nose to Carine's flashing steel, he recalled what Jack had told him before the events began. _Think like a pirate_.

He looked at Carine. The girl was hitting her stride now, showing off to the crowd as Will had been lost in his own thoughts. She turned and struck behind her back, or sidestepped nimbly to make her skirts flare out. She was smiling at him all the while, clearly enjoying seeing him exert himself in this way, and that gave Will an idea.

He met her attacking blade and heaved it away. He stepped forward, now surprising her with an aggressive advance. Her sword could attack only from the sides, as he defended the air in front of him with wide and violent sweeps. Amidst the renewed cheering of the crowd, Will gathered his strength, then caught her blade smartly and flicked his wrist around it rapidly to turn it away from him. In the moment that that it took Carine to bring her blade back around to meet him, Will lunged suddenly forward, encircled her with his free arm –

– and leaned her backwards to kiss her passionately.

Carine's eyelids fluttered in surprise, then closed. Will moved his mouth gently against hers, and it took only seconds before he heard the clatter of her blade hitting the stage. Around them, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of noise and applause, but Will did not break away immediately. When he finished kissing her and returned her to her feet, she wore a dazed half-smile and there were stars in her eyes.

Will laughed, sheathed his blade, and hugged her tightly. "Do you forgive me?" he murmured into her fragrant hair. She laughed, and pinched his bottom playfully in response. He smiled, knowing that breakfast at the _Poco_ would never be quite the same.

With his arm around a graciously defeated Carine, Will accepted his congratulations from Roberts and climbed down from the stage. Heads and eyes were turning to the other side of the tavern, where Jack and Jones were seated. The final event of the QuatriPirate Tournament had started before any of the others and ended long hours after the others finished. It had been obvious to everyone that Jack and the surprisingly resilient Jones were in for the long haul, but what was particularly interesting was that Jones seemed able to keep pace with Jack, bottle for bottle. The mountain of glass beside each man had begun to approach the ludicrous, but seemed to be completely equal.

Melanie and Dana parted the crowd of people in order to stand before their table. Jones smiled at them, eyes bleary, and Jack toasted them both. "I've heard good things," Jack said, and his two champion teammates simply smiled at him. "But if you'll excuse me, darling, darling," he said, standing, "I have a need to relieve myself. Beg pardon." He exited through the crowd and unsteadily headed for the front door.

The captain of the _Yellow Dart_ and the gunslinger regarded Jones merrily. "How do you feel so far?"

Jones did his best to focus on them. "You know, it's funny," he managed to say. He brought his current rum bottle to his mouth, and nearly missed. "It's funny because I've been drinking and drinking and drinking and …" He slumped back against his chair and started to snore. Melanie and Dana looked at one another. Had the competition just ended? They turned and looked about. Roberts was nowhere in sight.

The crowd parted as Jack sauntered back to the table. He was still buttoning up the front of his pants. Melanie rolled her eyes. "Jack."

"Hmm?"

Behind him came a rather sheepish looking Roberts. When he spied Jones asleep, he smiled. "Jack Sparrow is the winner!" he said loudly, and the surrounding pirates cheered.

Dana had to shout to make herself heard over the noise of celebration. "Where were you, Roberts?"

It was difficult to say for certain, but it seemed as though Roberts was blushing. "I was about to come and name Jack the winner, but it seemed that job was done for me when Jones fell asleep."

Melanie looked at him with surprise. "Were you outside?"

Roberts avoided her eyes. "For the sake of upholding the rules of the QuatriPirate Tournament, I had to follow Jack outside. Just to make sure he was not vomiting up his rum," he said quickly.

Jack looked at Roberts over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. He swayed. "You followed me to the 'loo, mate?"

"For the rules," Roberts insisted. "Anyway, Jack would have been the winner even if poor Jones hadn't fallen asleep." He started to laugh. "Jack was cheating."

"What?" Melanie looked at Jack, then at Roberts. "He was cheating … and he won?"

Roberts spread his hands. "Jack was drinking more rum outside, and did each time he went to the bushes. There is a pile of bottles outside there nearly equal to this one." Dana turned to her teammate. Jack was doing his best to keep to his feet, and met her eyes as best as he could.

"You outdrank Jones, and you didn't tell him?"

The pirate captain smiled a gold-tipped half-smile, and gingerly fished the rum bottle out of Jones' fingers. He tipped the bottle to his mouth, and looked at Dana over the bottle. "Let it not be said that Jack Sparrow cannot give his friends a fighting chance. Or, at least let them think they've got one."

Grinning, Jack held open his arms to Dana and Melanie. "Look me in the eye, and tell me that you 'ad a doubt." Dana drew in a laughing Will, and the four teammates embraced happily to deafening applause from their audience.

They were the winners.

_A/N - But we aren't finished yet, kittens._


	28. Shameless Celebration on the Revenge

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Shameless Celebration on the Good Ship _Revenge_

The Dread Pirate Roberts threw one hell of an end party. His vessel, the pirate ship _Revenge_, had shirked its duty as terrifying myth for one evening and allowed itself to be transformed into a floating platter of sumptuous festivities: moored off the shore of Léogâne, the deck of the _Revenge_ had been draped with silks and candles behind colored glass, throwing a myriad of yellow, red, blue, green, and purple shadows in all directions, and was populated with pretty serving girls holding drinks on trays. A little band of musicians had set up on the quarterdeck and was playing a rousing song with a fiddle. The deck had the look of a cozy and tastefully decorated den on water.

Leaning against the deck railing with his back to the water, Will and Jack plucked colorful drinks off of one of these trays as a serving girl sashayed past. The evening was completely and utterly lovely: the warm breeze was tentative, the water swelled and fell gently, and the friends had every reason to feel as though they were on the top of the world. They had been given a full day to rest – Jack doubted that he would have been able to bear even looking at another drink otherwise – and after sleep had refreshed them, they were more than ready to celebrate their victory with the passion appropriate to pirates that had just been declared the finest of their generation.

Jack and Will sipped their cocktails, and surveyed their friends happily. Carly had been overjoyed to discover that the Dread Pirate Roberts kept a collection of vibrantly-hued parrots on board, and was currently teaching them to sing in harmony with one another in time to the music. Carine and Jones were perched, feet swinging, on the forecastle rail, and Matthew was with Roberts in his cabin, speaking with interest about what it was like to be the Dread Pirate. There were many other pirates onboard, either friends of Roberts, of Dana and Melanie, or of the tournament in general. None of the other pirates to compete in the tournament had been allowed on board – after the incident between Dana and Billy O'Random, Roberts was not willing to take any more chances.

Jack turned to Will. "So, mate, how does it feel?"

Will sipped his drink before answering, despite the fact that the feeling he was feeling was precisely what he had been thinking about since he had woken that afternoon. "It feels good," he said. "It feels right." He smiled at Jack. "Who would have guessed that when you met me in the smithy all those years ago, that I would be standing beside you as a fellow pirate champion?"

Jack smiled, and delicately tasted his own drink. "Who indeed."

Melanie and Dana walked over to them from the other side of the deck. They were giggling with their arms around one another, and sharing a bottle of red wine. Dana dropped a curtsey when they halted before them. "Well if it isn't the Baron of the Blade and the Duke of Drink," she said.

Jack tipped his hat. "It is an honor to be in the presence of both the First Lady of Fire Arms and the Princess of Pilfering."

"This party is missing something," Melanie said. She looked pointedly at Jack. "I would say it's missing a bottle of _Chateau Latour_ –"

Jack held up his hands. "I could always kiss you again, love."

"– but Roberts found me one!" She displayed the label happily, and passed the bottle back to Dana. "But sorry, Jack. This one's ours, and no kisses this time. We don't want to share."

Will smiled at them. "What's our party missing, then?"

"Dancing!" Dana passed the bottle to Melanie, then snagged Will's wrist and tugged him out onto the open deck. When the band saw that they had dancers, they started up a lively tune. Will, laughing, set his drink down, slung his arm around the gunslinger's waist, and spun her across the deck. It did not take long for some of the other pirates to join in.

Melanie took up Will's position next to Jack. After another sip from the rather exotic wine bottle, she offered it to him. He raised his eyebrows. "I'm feeling generous," she said.

"I don't know, darling. You might start to associate the taste with me."

"Thanks to the stunt you pulled before, I already do. So go ahead."

Jack accepted the bottle and put his arm casually around the captain of the _Yellow Dart_. "So we're winners," he said.

"That we are."

Jack sipped the wine, savoring it. It was truly delicious stuff, but there was something to be said for the flavor of a good wine from lifted from the already sweet lips of someone else. Jack glanced at Melanie, but she met his look knowingly and as firmly as a blade meeting a blade.

"You are shameless," she said.

"It takes a lot of practice."

As the night wore on, there was more drinking and there was more dancing and there was certainly more celebration. The band played deep into the night. When the candles finally began to disappear into themselves and sputter out, and when the serving girls graciously departed, it seemed as though it was time for bed. In the growing darkness, the four friends embraced once more, and it was Jack who had the largest smile. He grasped their shoulders.

"Thank you," he said to them, and turned to go to bed.

As he walked away, the three friends looked at one another. "We could say the same," said Will with a chuckle. "But I do thank you ladies as well. You've helped make a dream come true."

Melanie hit him in the shoulder. "As though you wouldn't have become one of the most fearsome scoundrels of the sea without our help."

"I don't know about that," said Dana. "Will still thinks that orange juice is the best accompaniment to breakfast."

"What's wrong with that?" asked Will.

Melanie leveled a look at him. "The fact that you wake up early enough to eat breakfast."

They laughed, and Melanie bid her two friends goodnight. She was to bunk in Roberts' cabin with Carine and Carly, and she turned to make her way there.

Dana and Will were left alone on the deck. Will extended his arm gallantly, and Dana accepted it. They walked leisurely in the direction of the forecastle deck where hammocks had been strung up for them to sleep in, barring indecent weather. The stars glittered and sparkled overhead, icy light, and Will could not help smiling.

"I just can't believe that I'm here," he said.

"Imagine how hard it is for me. Don't forget that I was with you the first time you were ever _drunk_, let alone drunk in the company of the world's most infamous pirate gunslinger." She squeezed his arm. "But don't worry. I think you're worthy enough to be my escort. After all, your resume is fairly impressive now."

Will laughed, effectively covering the sound of the boots that was rapidly approaching the pair from behind. Will opened his mouth to reply smartly to Dana's remark, but both friends were silenced when a cloth with a harsh chemical suddenly covered their faces and rough sacks were brought down over their heads. The stars disappeared as the world faded to complete black.


	29. One Unfortunate QuatriSurprise

Chapter Twenty-Nine – One Unfortunate QuatriSurprise

It was early afternoon, and William Turner woke to the sensation of his hair blowing across and over his face. He sat up suddenly, blinking in the sun. He was alone, on a beach. He looked about, but there was no one and nothing, with the exception of the jungle-like trees behind him and the cerulean water that stretched away before him. He was on an island.

The breeze that blew across the water and the white sand offered some reprieve from the oppressive heat. Will turned to find shade, and saw a parchment pinned against the trunk of one tree with a sword. Startled, he glanced down for his own weapons, but they were gone: he was wearing nothing but his short brown pants and open-collared white shirt.

There was little else to do – he moved forward to read the note on the tree. There was little to read, however, and his heart sped up when he saw that there were only two words, written in an elegantly inked script:

_Round Four_.

Will swallowed, and pulled the sword free. He hefted it in his hand, a worn weapon, but one with a respectable weight and balance. He could use this. He stopped his train of thought suddenly, and furrowed his brow. _Use this_? What was he thinking? Was he supposed to venture into the heart of the island to find and kill his friends? He swallowed hard with a sudden realization. Were his friends already up and moving, to find and kill _him_?

There was only one way to find out. Sword ready in his hand, Will took a breath, and ducked into the trees.

* * *

Captain Melanie Cash did not appreciate the fact that a wayward gang of the sun's beams had taken up a vendetta on her eyelids. She turned her face without opening her eyes, hoping to escape the hole in the curtains that had been so impudent as to allow such intruders into her bedroom, when she suddenly realized where she was. Or, more importantly, where she was not.

She sprang to her feet in a panic, and narrowly avoided bashing her head on an overhanging tree-branch. For a moment, she was blinded by the sunlight. When she cracked open her eyes and glanced around, she saw that she was alone on a white beach, and had been lying under a tree. Immediately, her hand went for her sword and pistol. Both were gone. She wriggled her bare toes in the sand – neither did she have her trusty boot-dagger.

When she looked up from her feet, she spied a sword pinning a note to the trunk of the tree she had been under, and as beads of sweat began to prickle on her forehead, she tore the parchment from beneath the sword. She read it, though she did not need to in order to assume where and why she was._ Round Four_. She swore under her breath and flung the note aside. She should have known. It was ridiculous for a pirate event to claim more than one winner. Every pirate knew that having a prize to oneself was scores better than having to share it with teammates, friends or otherwise.

She wiped the sweat off of her brow in the powerful heat, then tore the hem of her skirt to make it lower and cooler, and ripped off her shirt sleeves. She plucked the sword from the tree trunk, making the injury on her shoulder sing with pain, and turned in search of the only man who could have known that this was coming.

* * *

Somewhere above her, a bird was whistling shrilly. Dana Flint would ordinarily have rolled over and continued to sleep without paying it any mind, but it seemed slightly odd to her that a bind should be singing at the same time that a decidedly warm breeze was moving across her face. Dana opened her eye to find herself propped against the trunk of a tree in copse of trees. Before her, the ground sloped down to a windswept white beach that flared in the sun.

An island.

She sat up, pulled down the brim of her hat, and squinted to look out across the water. An island perhaps, but she was certainly not alone. Moored some distance away from the shore, Roberts' ship _Revenge_ sat silently, watching and waiting. Dana frowned, and used the trunk of the tree to help her get to her feet. She jumped when her hand bumped against the cool handle of a blade, and she turned to see the sword and the note.

Round Four. And here she was without a single bullet to her name. Some good Jack's pistol would do her now. She tugged the blade free and regarded it with a slight frown of distaste. Knives and swords were so messy and tiresome – you had to get so close to use them. Better a single shot, fired from a distance, and your victim never need know they were ever in your sights. Safe, neat, and fast.

With that thought, she glanced around quickly, listening. She did not necessarily intend to hunt down the others, but it was always best to ensure that she herself was not in the crosshairs of any other pirate. She snorted. _Pirates_. As far as she was concerned, there was only one pirate that she needed to worry about, and three days prior, she had abandoned herself to blissful ignorance and vulnerability, lulled to sleep by the beat of his heart. His cheating, scheming, betraying heart. _I must be losing my touch_, Dana thought. _The double-cross is _my_ trademark move_.

* * *

Elsewhere on the little island, Captain Jack Sparrow, gentleman terror of the seven seas, woke with a smile.


	30. Past Sin and Present Virtue

Chapter Thirty – Past Sin and Present Virtue

It was only when his opponent's blade cut neatly through his parries and halted a breath away from his throat that Will Turner began to sweat. To be completely honest, Will had been sweating profusely before this point – the sun was beating heavily down from above, the sand beneath and on top of and between his bare feet was unforgivingly hot, and there was absolutely no wind to speak of. Personally, Will would have been satisfied to leave the drama and betrayal until the cool of evening, or to at least move it into the cool of the shade made by the trees in the center of the little island, but fate had not decreed that it would be so.

He eyed the unwavering tip of the blade warily, and let his own sword-arm fall loosely by his side. He raised his eyes, and met a pair that glinted with glee, and, Will decided after a moment to catch his breath, far too much confidence. He dropped deftly into a crouch and swept his opponent's feet out from under him with his leg. He landed hard on his back in the sand.

"I'd help you up," said Will, "but you'd probably stab me."

"Most likely," replied Jack Sparrow, before rolling back onto his feet. He was grinning. "I'm pleased that you're learning to think like a pirate at least, and while I don't think that a smooch from the William Turner will put me out of commission, you're always welcome to try." Jack turned his blade, catching the glare of the sun, and then brought it down on Will again.

"You know, you really don't surprise me anymore, Jack," Will said after a moment. "In fact, a cynic might call this a rather predictable turn of events."

Jack leapt nimbly over a low slash. "Are you a cynic, Will?"

"I thought I was your friend." Will ducked a high slash.

"You certainly are."

Their two blades met solidly between them, and the steel rang. Will leaned in close. "Then what exactly is this about?" Jack leaned in to match.

"Immortality, mate. That's the prize I'm after." Jack heaved Will's sword to the side and ended their temporary stalemate.

"And you want to be remembered as the pirate who won it all by killing the people that helped him get there?"

With a sudden movement of improbable speed, Jack twisted away to the side and brought the butt of his hilt around sharply. He connected with the back of Will's head, and the blacksmith fell heavily to the sand.

"I just want to be remembered," Jack said.

* * *

Dana sat comfortably beneath the trunk of her tree with her blade on the ground beside her. Her noisy little bird had since disappeared, much to her disappointment, because she was rather bored sitting alone and waiting for something interesting to happen. She had long since decided that she would not venture onto the glaring white sand and into the open for someone, namely Jack, to spot and attach. After all, she had no intention of attacking anyone else herself. Hers would be a purely defensive game. As a gunslinger first and a pirate second, she had little interest in the title of the generation's greatest pirate – it would have been a sham. Then again, with the loss of her eye, perhaps that order of professional titles was in need of some reordering.

Nevertheless, if the stakes came down to her own life, she was willing to fight back, friend or no, but she could not conceive of hunting those friends to begin with. She smiled to herself, thinking it funny that the stone gunslinger, the one who had intended to enter and win the QuatriPirate Tournament alone, was now half-blind and merrily waiting for the appearance of her potentially murderous friends.

Fate was certainly fun.

She was not surprised when an armed Melanie dropped down from the tree branches before her. The captain of the _Yellow Dart_ looked rather dazed from the heat, although Dana thought it completely possible that this sudden of uncalled-for treachery might have thrown her off balance. She smiled at Melanie. "You should stick to the shade. I find the heat scrambles my brain."

"That's not the only thing around here that's getting scrambled." Melanie sheathed her sword through a belt loop and sat down beside the gunslinger. She sighed. Dana could feel the heat coming off of her in waves.

"Have you seen either of the others yet?"

Dana shook her head. "Nope. It's just been my tree and me."

Melanie laughed. It was short and humorless. "Don't be offended, but I would have thought to see you jump right on this thing. You love honor and fame and glory."

"Well, so do you. How come you haven't stabbed me yet?"

Melanie shrugged. "I don't do that to partners."

Dana cast her a side-long grin. "You mean to friends?"

"That too."

"I've actually been thinking, Melanie. How would you feel about me permanently joining your crew?"

Startled, Melanie turned to look at her. "What?"

"Well, look at me. There aren't many people that are going to hire a one-eyed gunslinger, and I can just imagine what will happen when people start to doubt me – I'll shoot them in the face to demonstrate that I can still aim, and then my business will be gone." She smiled. "In all seriousness, would you take me on?"

"Assuming we make it off of this island alive, you do tie a mean timber hitch. But then again, Milton can do that with his eyes closed."

"True. He also has opposable thumbs, and beats me again with the whole prehensile tail thing."

Melanie hugged Dana suddenly. Surprised, Dana returned the embrace. "Is that a yes?"

"That's a _hell_-yes-how-could-I-ever-refuse. Besides, you're a QuatriPirate Tournament Champion. Though if you expect a pay raise …"

"I can guess," Dana laughed. "Find a prehensile tail."

"You got it." Melanie stood and brushed the sand from her skirt.

"Where are you going?"

"To finish this. I'm tired and I've decided that I'm ready to go home."

"And how do you intend to finish this?"

Melanie unsheathed her sword. She smiled, and even in the brilliance of the sun, her eyes were black as pitch. "However I can."

* * *

Melanie did not need to search far for Jack. They found each other. She was walking along the shore with her feet in the warm water and her sword in her hand. This, she decided, was an acceptable way to traverse the island. She could not be ambushed, and if Jack was foolish enough to throw his only weapon at her, he was nowhere near the threat she had presumed he was.

As she rounded the gentle bend of the island, she saw Jack walking along towards her, evidently having had the same idea. They slowed as they approached one another, and Melanie could see that in the heat, Jack had shirked his shirt. Sweat gleamed on his chest. Melanie smiled to herself, thinking it slightly odd that she might be about to kill or be killed by the man who, for all intents and purposes, could still be sporting her teeth marks.

In plain sight behind Jack, Roberts' ship _Revenge_ sat watchfully. Melanie nodded towards it as Jack closed the gap between them. "So. Is this just for him?"

Jack cocked his head. "Is what, darling?"

"This entire thing. This fourth round. This abandonment of friends."

"I have a friend," Jack replied. He lifted his sword and it glinted. "See this one shine, how he smiles in the light?"

Movement at the tree line beside them made both pirates turn their heads momentarily. Will had his arm slung over Dana, who was helping him walk with difficulty. His hand was to his head. Melanie smiled.

"You didn't kill Will."

"I didn't have to, love. Do you think he's my real competition?" Jack smiled his slow smile, and then extended his arm to level his sword at Melanie's throat. Melanie regarded him steadily.

"You would kill me?"

"I don't want to."

"But you think that you could do it in order to win." She smiled suddenly at him, and opened her hand. Her blade fell to the sand with a soft sound. She spread her hands. "Here I stand," she said.

Jack hesitated. His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes had softened. Melanie watched him closely, and when it became clear that Jack could not strike, she carefully took hold of the blade and removed it from his hands. He did not resist, and did not protest when she flung the sword out into the water.

Suddenly, fireworks exploded up from the deck of the _Revenge_, making all four of the pirates jump. As the riot of colors danced and fell in the bright sky, it seemed that the QuatriPirate Tournament was over for good this time, and significantly, it had been won by friendship, and not by the blade. Under the trees, Dana and Will stood smiling with their arms around one another.

On the beach, Melanie smiled at Jack. She squeezed his arm. "I know you," she said softly. "You would not be that man. I know that you want immortality, but what's the point of having a great and legendary name if you aren't there to taste it?"

He looked at her. "I – I'm …"

"Yes?"

"I'm s – s … I'm s – sincerely apologetic."

Melanie laughed. "That's heady stuff coming from you, Sparrow. We accept."

_Author's Note - There's one more chapter to come!_


	31. The Last Word

_Author's Note - Here it is, folks, the final chapter! Thanks for reading and don't be afraid to leave a note saying hello! If you chuckled at what you read, be sure to check out the prequel to this story, **The Sting of the Yellow Dart**. Exploding high five!_

Chapter Thirty-One – The Last Word

Not long after the _Revenge_ let off its display of congratulatory fireworks, it dropped a jolly boat to come and collect the waiting QuatriPirate Tournament champions. They sat together in the shade with their feet in the sand and watched it advance. "That's odd," said Will after a moment. "There's someone else in the boat with Roberts." They squinted, and saw that indeed there was. When the boat fetched up against the white sand of the island, Roberts was followed out by a balding little man in spectacles who barely reached the height of the pirate's shoulder.

Roberts hailed them. "Hello, my friends!" He and the mysterious little man carefully picked their way up the shore and came to stand in the shade. "I apologize for the deception, but you understand that we had to end the tournament here, and in this way." He beamed at Melanie. "And, for the first time, our winner does not have blood on her hands. I cannot tell you how proud I am of you, Melanie."

Melanie shrugged. "To tell you the truth, Roberts, I wasn't thinking about winning the tournament."

"Then do you decline your prize?"

Melanie laughed. "No. What is it?"

Roberts grinned again, and introduced his friend. "This man," he said, "is Frederick Tripp!"

Dana's eyes were wide. "You mean _the_ Fred Tripp?"

Roberts was ecstatic. "Yes! You know of him?"

The gunslinger laughed. "Nope. Not at all. How could we? We're pirates that live on the ocean." Jack, Mel, and Will laughed as the dread pirate and the bald man frowned. Dana apologized. "Sorry Roberts, but that was for the sack over the head." She nodded to Tripp. "Sorry."

Roberts continued. "Mr. Tripp works in the royal library in London. Melanie – your prize is literary immortality!"

Melanie gasped, and Jack cocked his head. "What?"

"Literary immortality!" said Roberts. He was obviously excited. "As winner of the QuatriPirate Tournament, Mr. Tripp will return to London and inscribe your name and tale into some of the oldest volumes of literature in the colonies." Roberts grinned behind his mask. "Your name is going to be passed on forever, Melanie."

"You're going to put me into books?" she asked Tripp. The bald man nodded, and wiped the sweat from his brow. She smiled, thinking of her pirate record in _Tess' End_ in Saint-Domingue, and how much more convenient it would be to access in a public place where anyone could see it. And read it. Delighted, Melanie stood to shake Tripp's hand, but as she did so, Jack sprang to his feet and whisked the sword out from her belt.

With a single clean motion, he ran Tripp through.

As the bald man fell dead to the sand, Jack wiped the blade clean and calmly handed it back, hilt first, to its owner. Incredulous, Melanie accepted the sword. "Why – what …"

Jack smiled at her, ignoring Roberts strangled noises of protest. "What's the point of having a great and legendary name if you aren't there to taste it?"

_If ye seek those with a pirate's heart_

_Ye'd best find the crew of the _Yellow Dart _…_

Back home at the _Cliffs of Insanity_ in Tortuga, the champions of the QuatriPirate Tournament had relaxed into their old routine. Melanie, Dana, and the crew of the _Yellow Dart_ were waiting for a man to meet them and sell – or part with – his map, and Will, Carine, and Jones were waiting for a ride home to Port Royal. Jack was similarly biding his time and waiting until Gibbs returned to port. In other words, there was time to relax before they were to part.

In the crowded bar, both Dana and Will were sipping ale and playing cards at a worn table. While there was music playing, Melanie had coaxed Jack out onto the floor to dance. "You realize that you owe me big time for that Tripp incident," she said. "What good is it to be one of the four best pirates of my generation, and have no one know about it?"

Jack lifted her hand to spin her. "What are you talking about? Many people know you." He drew her in close and smiled into her eyes. "In fact, if I remember correctly, your record is one of the better circulated, regardless of what it says about you."

Something fell into place for Melanie with a jolt. "Jack – did you change my record to say that I was a man?" Jack only smiled and twirled Melanie outward again. When she rotated back into his arms, her eyes were fiery but she was smiling.

"I have to admit, that was a good play."

"I thought so at the time, too, but then I saw your shoulder and I felt rather off about it, darling. I apologize."

"How did you know about what happened to my shoulder?"

Jack tilted his head to stare into her eyes, and it was all Melanie could do not to fall before the combined power of his cologne, eyeliner, and cheekbones. "There is very little that escapes my very complete, very attentive notice," he murmured.

He wrapped his arms around Melanie. "Besides," he said, and then stopped. Melanie raised her eyebrows in question, and Jack held up his flask. "What was this doing in your pocket?"

She smirked. "The same thing your hand was just doing in my pocket. And besides, I thought nothing escaped your very complete notice?"

Jack and Melanie finished their dance, and arm in arm, made their way back to the table where Dana had handily beaten Will, who now owed her another drink. As Will stood to fetch it, Jack requested his own drink, as did Melanie, and the blacksmith promised to deliver as long as the next round was on someone else. They laughed, and as Will disappeared into the throng at the bar, the talk of the three pirates turned to the future – and it was one that looked bright indeed.

And so it is that we leave our friends in this little tavern, nestled in the rogue heart of Tortuga. They have proven their mettle time and again, and there is no question in the mind of this author that -

Without warning, there was the sound of a chair scraping back from a table in the _Cliffs of Insanity_ tavern. Dana Flint had sprung to her feet and, inconceivably, had her pistol leveled in the face of Captain Melanie Cash. Dana was breathing hard, furious, and Melanie's eyes were wide. Will had dropped his drinks and shoved his way back to the table through the silent and watching crowd.

"Take it back," Dana said in a low voice. Her steely gaze did not waver, nor did the dark eye of her pistol.

Melanie laughed, nervously. "Take what back?"

Not one to be trifled with, Dana pulled back the hammer. "The word that you just said," she growled. "Take it back."

"What word?"

"You know what word."

Will slowly approached the table. He glanced at Jack. "What word?" Jack cast him a single, dark look.

"_Trilogy_."


End file.
